The Patient Wolf (Wicked Urban Fantasy #1) (5 page)

“It was a full moon last night, you know,” Alexander said with another of his delicious smiles. When he looked at her like that she didn’t know whether to take his words seriously or not, but he did make her feel as if he appreciated her—for her stories as well as just as a woman. It was obvious he was very serious about his studies, but then, in Ana’s experience, professors were always a little over the top when it came to their subject matter, no matter how esoteric.

“But of course I really don’t believe it was a shapeshifter, er, werewolf. Just a large, mean stray,” she quickly added.

Alexander gave a small smile at her quick correction. Only someone with insider knowledge would know that the term “werewolf” was no longer politically correct. “Shapeshifter” had become the more popular term. It didn’t have as many negative connotations. “Of course. You have explained that you are a skeptic,” Alexander said, letting her slip of the tongue pass without mention. But the moon was full last night, and it will be full for the next two days. You say they didn’t catch the dog? And this man who rescued you? You didn’t know him? Had never seen him before? You should watch out on your way home this evening.”

Ana laughed off his insinuations about her recent experience with the dog and returned to the safer subject of local legends.

“So, you want to know about the werewolf stories. It starts with the name of the town; you are French, I’m sure you’ve already thought of that one,” Ana said.

“Rivelou? A derivation of the words Wolf River? You mentioned hunters and trappers. I had assumed that it just came from the abundance of the animals in the area.”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. There is an old legend that not just wolves, but werewolves lived in this area.”

“Werewolves,” said Alexander, “Now this is the kind of thing that can make my research much more interesting to the public. A scholarly journal brings tenure, but it does not attract a popular audience.”

“Of course. Your ‘Legends’ series. I forgot you were
that
Alexander Fontaine. My grandfather reads all of your books. And of course, that would explain why Dr. Tormisano doesn’t like your seminar idea. He believes that anyone who writes ‘popular work which appeals to the uneducated masses’ can’t be a true scholar,” she said, imitating her boss’s intonation exactly as she quoted one of his maxims.

“I’m flattered you have heard of my work. And that your grandfather has read it. He must be a most enlightened gentleman,” Alexander said teasingly.

“Well you haven’t heard what the rest of the family says about his interest in them. Oh!” Ana covered her mouth in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound condescending about your books.”

“Not at all. I learned years ago that while scholarly writings will bring me the security of tenure and speaking engagements at a few obscure conferences, it does not purchase the kind of lifestyle I prefer. And while it does upset some of the people in the areas I research, and some of my colleagues, I’ve never been one to care what the other members of the pack—the faculty—say. And that, of course, leads me back to the werewolf legends of Rivelou. Tell me what you know.”

“It begins with the Native Americans. You probably know that many tribes feel a special connection to wolves, and also that many Native American tribes have legends and superstitions about men being able to transform into wolves. If you come across a wolf in the wilderness one of the ways you know he is a werewolf, rather than just your garden variety wolf, is his eyes. They will be an iridescent blue color…”

Ana faltered and stopped her tale in mid-sentence.

“Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no. Of course not. I just remembered something from last night. The eyes of the dog. They were blue. And glowing.” Ana shook herself. “I’m being silly. It’s all this talk of ghosts on top of last night. I’ve given myself the creeps. Animals’ eyes often seem to glow in the dark.”

“You never know. I’ve seen many strange things over the years. Maybe these legends that you discount are real,” said Alexander, looking at her intently.

“I can never tell if you are serious or teasing,” Ana complained. “But anyway, the werewolves are said to be very tough. Axes and arrows—the weapons of the Native Americans—cannot hurt them. There is, of course, the silver bullet method for killing them, but I suspect that is borrowed from the European legends. The earliest of the Native Americans wouldn’t have had a lot of access to silver bullets, or guns.”

“Yes, you are right,” Alexander said as he continued to make notes. “And how does one become a werewolf in your local legends?”

“Oh, the usual methods, I believe,” Ana said, waving her hand casually. She had recovered her equanimity and was feeling lighthearted again. She could keep the conversation general, and not get too close to home.

“Some say that a werewolf is made because he or she has done something particularly evil, such as murder, although I really don’t believe that one, myself. Or if two werewolves mate, their offspring will be werewolves, too. And of course, if you are bitten by a werewolf at the full moon, you will become a werewolf. Werewolves are always looking for a mate, and there aren’t a lot of them, so a male werewolf will stalk likely human females, while a female werewolf will stalk human males.

“While in werewolf form they have supernatural powers,” she continued, warming up to her lecture. “They can hypnotize their prey, their sense of smell and their speed are even greater than a real wolf, they ‘talk’ telepathically to other of their kind when in wolf form, they heal easily from wounds, and they have superhuman strength.”

“And do these traits carry over when they are in human form?”

“No, not really. At least,” she amended carefully, “that is what my grandfather says.”

“I must meet your grandfather someday,” Alexander said. Ana did not encourage the thought. She didn’t want her grandfather, who while quite wise in his own way, and definitely the head of the family, had little formal schooling, subjected to the urbane wit of Professor Alexander Fontaine.

“Don’t you think we had better discuss the details for your seminar? It is only a month away and I need to start getting notices in all of the local online bulletin boards, the campus paper…”

“Yes, of course you are right,” Alexander said, and launched into a detailed list of things Ana would need to do immediately, if not sooner.

Suddenly Ana looked up from her notes and realized they were the last ones left in the cafeteria.

“Oh no, I’ve taken twice as long as I should have for lunch. Dr. Tormisano is going to have my head—or maybe just my neck, if he is a vampire, like in the one tale I told you.”

Alexander laughed. “I don’t think he could be a vampire. He is much too mundane for that. You have to be bitten to become one, and I don’t think he would appeal to many vampires.”

“You’re right.” They began to head for the door. “But I’ve still got to get going. He expects the class drop/add lists on his desk before I leave today, and I wanted to have time to study for my test.”

“You are taking a class?”

“Classes. I’m getting my education degree. I should be able to leave my admin job at the university when I have to do my semester of student teaching at the end of next year.”

“I have been remiss. I have talked only of myself, and not asked anything about you. We will have to remedy that situation at our next meeting. How is tomorrow for lunch again for you?” Alexander closed the distance between them, but when she held out her hand to shake, he took it and held it gently. Again, she had a faint whiff of his woodsy cologne.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. The history department holds a special lunch for the professors once a month and I have to be there to make sure they have everything they need.”

“I think Dr. Tormisano doesn’t realize the prize he has in you, Ana. I will have to let him know how valuable you are.”

It was an odd comment, but again, Alexander delivered it with a brilliant smile, so Ana felt he must be teasing her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, and hurried away. As she rounded the corner of the building she looked back. Alexander was still standing in front of the building, studying her with a brooding look on his face.

Chapter 6

Ana didn’t have time to finish the drop/add lists for Dr. Tormisano, or study for her evening class that afternoon. Shortly after returning to the history department a police detective arrived to ask more questions about the dog attack.

“You say you’ve never seen the dog in the neighborhood before, even though you walk to and from the university almost every day,” the detective was asking her just as Dr. Tormisano returned to the office from an afternoon meeting.

Ana’s heart sank. The fussy professor would probably have apoplexy at the thought of one of his staff being questioned by the police in his office.

“What is going on here?” the professor interrupted.

“Detective Leon Sawyer,” the cop said standing and holding out his hand to shake. “Your administrative assistant was attacked by a dog last night; very probably the same animal that later killed a man a few blocks away from her home.”

“Ana, you were attacked by a dog? You didn’t say anything. Are you all right?”

Ana was astonished. Most of the staff and faculty who knew him swore the professor’s heart was a history book. He didn’t care about anything that had happened after World War II, his own particular specialty. And here he was actually showing concern for her.

“Yes, professor. I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt at all. A neighbor heard me, came to my rescue, and scared the dog away. Unfortunately, we didn’t stop it. It seems it found someone else to attack a short time later.”

“Yes, of course. I’d heard about the murder. Do you call it murder when the perpetrator is an animal?” he asked the detective in a reflective way, then continued without waiting for a response.

“My students have talked about nothing else all morning, since it is occurred only a few blocks from the campus. I’ve had a difficult time keeping their attention focused on the class discussion, where it belongs. Well, Ana, I’ll let this detective get the information he needs from you. But please, officer, keep it brief. Ana needs to finish several reports for me this afternoon.”

“And he’s back,” Ana thought irreverently. A few moments of genuine concern for another human being were apparently all the professor could handle in one day. But she would have to remember to tell Monica about it later.

“As I was saying,” the detective brought her attention back to his questions. “You are sure you have not seen this animal in your neighborhood before?”

“No. Never. I’m pretty familiar with any animals that live in the houses on my regular route to and from here, and I’ve never seen him. I’d remember. He was very large. Very black, with blue eyes.”

“You’re sure about the eyes? Did the dog have some white on it somewhere? Chest? Paws?”

“You mean like a Husky? No.” Ana shook her head.

Sawyer added, “I’m pretty familiar with a lot of different dog breeds. Huskies are one of the few dogs about that size with blue eyes, but an all-black Husky, with no white anywhere, would be extremely rare.”

“I’m sure about the coloring. He was right up in my face. I would have noticed white paws or a white chest. In the street light it looked as if he might have had a little grey around his ears, but more like he was a mature dog, not like white markings.”

Sawyer continued to take notes as she spoke. Ana was glad he wasn’t looking at her. She’d been so caught up in the attack last night, there were things she hadn’t really processed at the time. Now, as she thought about it she added, “I’m sure it wasn’t a Husky. It was shaped wrong, more like a German Shepherd or a…”

“A wolf?”

“A wolf! Why would you say a wolf? Why would there be wolf in a city neighborhood like this one?”

The detective looked up and studied her closely. Maybe she had seemed too astonished, she thought. “Did you find out who the man was who was killed?” she asked to take his attention off questions of wolves.

“Yes, we have, but I can’t give you his name until all of his next of kin have been notified. He lived a few streets away from you. Poor guy, he’d just gone out for a walk, just like you and your friend Chris Spier, but his walk ended a lot worse than yours did. Speaking of Spier, how long have you known him?”

“I don’t really know him at all. I just met him last night. He heard me shouting and came running to the rescue.”

“Hmm. The ‘dog’ couldn’t have been his?” Ana could almost hear the quotation marks Detective Sawyer put around the word, “dog.”

“He really does believe it was a wolf,” she thought.

“Well no, of course not. He said it wasn’t his,” Ana said, realizing that this police officer was the second person in as many hours to suggest that the dog—or wolf—had actually belonged to Chris. Could Chris really know more than he had let on? It
was
awfully convenient he had been right there when the attack occurred.

“Right. Well, I’ll let you get back to work,” he said just as Monica came in the door. “But I’d be careful getting too close to a stranger. A woman like you could easily be taken advantage of.”

“Now what did he mean by that,” she wondered.

Monica interrupted her thoughts. “Wow, how come you get all the hot guys today?” she asked once the detective was safely out of earshot. “First Professor Fontaine, now this detective.”

“I didn’t notice,” said Ana.

“Really? What a body. You really have had a bad day if you didn’t notice Detective Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Ana said glumly, putting her elbows on her desk and her head on her hands. “I never had a chance to tell you about last night. The one I’ve met who seemed the nicest, suddenly everyone suspects of owning a killer dog.”