Bitten By Deceit (7 page)

Which led me to my super genius moment: I’d been robbed in broad daylight.

I barely remembered how I ended my call with James, maybe I’d mumbled thanks or something, but I did recall racing down my driveway—in low-heels and all—to reach the road. My gaze quickly went to the ground. Then my nose went to the air. All the clues should be here waiting for me.

While I scanned the grass and surrounding tree line, my brain chewed on ideas. I paced back and forth, trying to wrap my head around what could’ve happened. A small branch broke in the distance, drawing my eye—but it was nothing but a large bird. The whole forest had a bunch of wildlife. Even the fragrant pine and ash trees would’ve been a delight to visitors, but to me they were an olfactory distraction.

As I walked, I approached a familiar large rock. The sight of it stirred memories in my mind. The dark gray stone—about the size of a head—reminded me of the “for sale” sign that had leaned against it five years ago. The grass had been overgrown back then, but I’d ignored it. At the time, I’d been steadfast for a new start. That included a new job as a clerk at the Bend of the River Flea Market, or The Bends as the locals called it. I worked day-to-day for a goblin boss named Bill, selling antiques to finicky supernatural creatures along the Parkway.

All of those things, including my new home, were a way to forget about the man who haunted my past.

The task at hand attacked me like a horsefly. Dwelling on what I did with my life after I got kicked out of the pack wouldn’t help me find the package.

First of all, whoever did this knew I’d been expecting a package. Second, it had to be a supernatural, someone with the ability to alter how they looked. A glamour, or appearance-altering spell, could be thrown about by most forest-dwelling creatures such as brownies, goblins, and the like. Sure, those magical troublemakers operated businesses around here, but a few of them made mischief whenever possible.
 

All of this meant another werewolf didn’t do this. A lingering scent confirmed my suspicions. It flowed around my nose, damp and heavy like rich moss sprinkled with a metallic smell. A distinct one at that. A pair of tracks revealed someone with tennis shoes. My size, no doubt. Whoever did this had waited in the grass by the road and strolled right up to it. From there, the shoes walked twenty feet and then somehow shrank down a bit. The trail led southward.

For a split-second, I was tempted to discard my shoes and track them on foot. That’s what any other werewolf would do. But I didn’t operate that way, nor would I even entertain that idea, no matter how much I wanted that box. The very idea of ruining my pantyhose was enough to make me get in my car. With my options limited, I rolled down the window and hoped my prey wasn’t far away.

* * *

The trail took me south beyond South Toms River toward the deeper woods. Jakes Branch County Park loomed to the west with the town of Beachwood to the east. Most of the pack ran here during the full moon as wolves.

When the scent began to dissipate, I pulled off to the side of the road. All around me was nothing but trees. I peered through the brush, hoping for a building or some structure. With none nearby, the obvious question came to mind: How badly did I want that box? (A lot.) Did I want it enough to go into the forest? (Damn right, I paid a pretty penny for expedited shipping, too.) All the while, my fingers tapped against the steering wheel. Having an obsessive-compulsive disorder really messed with me at times. Especially right now. The compulsion to stay clean nipped at me, while the wolf inside grew excited over the prospects of a hunt. It had been far too long since I’d hunted prey bigger than the rabbits hiding along my property.
 

After a few deep breaths, I managed to open the door. No, I just couldn’t get dirty. I couldn’t go running off through the woods into God knew what—poison ivy, spiderwebs, or worse. I’d have to bathe for hours to get it all off me. The next step should’ve been to leave the car. Unfortunately, I used it to shut the door.

There had to be another way. Some other way to reach my destination and maintain my sanity. I kept driving south.

The scent wasn’t as heavy, but it remained.

Eventually, a right-hand turn appeared. Maybe a real path could be found. The gravel road led to a vacant lot with a small building and a tool shed. Based on the shape of the large building at one corner, a township stored their snow plows here. Bags of salt were stacked on top of each other. Not far from the piles was a second gravel path. My nose told me to go that way.
 

I pulled off the side, got out of the car, and then slowly strode toward the path. The scent was ever so faint, like detecting perfume left on clothes from the night before. The trail led me behind the buildings.

Spring had sprung all around me, yet I didn’t notice its fragrance due to the forest’s filth. Broken branches covered in sickly green moss. There had to be red trilliums nearby. The wildflower was lovely, but it stank to high heaven like carrion. Sadly, the only thing that smelled sweet was the faint fragrance of barren strawberries that had yet to come into full bloom. Yet another scent prevailed over everything, a swampy one from the rain that had fallen a few days ago.

Every awkward step in my heels sent shocks of pain into my ankles. But I kept going. I kept moving. What drew me forward was the hunger for confrontation, the hunger to see whatever had taken what was rightfully mine.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to touch any trees or step on anything other than the gravel. The dust from the path would be easy enough to clean off. After a ways, the path turned into a clearing. With each step, I told myself,
Stop looking around you. Don’t think about the fallen trees. Don’t think about the grass, and for goodness sake, don’t think about your damn shoes
.

I was a werewolf, and I needed to focus on the hunt.

Rays of sunlight peeked through the trees. Branches hovered over the clearing like a mother protecting her child from the rain. But even with the speckled light, I could make out some kind of tool shed surrounded by a graveyard of scrap metal. The haphazard piles included refrigerators, televisions, and other electronics.

I sucked in a breath. They were rusted, putrid things.

Right next to the junk, leaning against the shed, was another unsteady structure which couldn’t be classified as a home. Bits and pieces of the scrap metal, along with crumbled bricks, had been used to protect it from the elements. A thick tree, most likely oak, jutted out from the back and provided ample shade over the shed and ramshackle house. My mom always said a home was any place where you could burn what you caught and quartered, but this was ridiculous. I gazed with disdain at the place. At the mud along the bent-in door. What kind of person lived like this?

Yet a trail of smoke from a slanting chimney told a different tale. Something
lived
here. And that something had the scent of the intruder who took my package.

His sneaky butt was mine to chew out—when I learned how to get in.

I shouted instead.

“Whoever took my package needs to show themselves.
Now
.”

Silence.

“You know, you just can’t take what doesn’t belong to you.”

Would it be sad to admit I stood there for a few minutes before I mustered the courage to get really pissed off? How long had it been since I’d showed another supernatural creature who was boss? A few months? Over a year?

 
“I’m going to give you ten seconds to come out before I rip off your door—or whatever constitutes your door—and shove it down your throat,” I belted out. “You
know
what I am and what I’m willing to do.”

One of the thick sheets of metal creaked the slightest bit and parted, revealing three pairs of glowing eyes in the darkness.

Should I huff and puff to blow the three little piggies house down?

“You might as well come out.” I took a confident step forward, even though my heels wobbled a bit in the soft dirt.

The doorway opened even further, and a scaly hand as brown as the mud around me appeared. The four fingered-claw was deceptive though. Something far larger attached to that hand emerged, or should I say, attempted to squeeze itself through the door.

Three heads came first. Very slowly. Its body was brown and thick, snakelike with tiny arms and legs attached. For several sections, the tiny arms dragged out. My mighty foe stopped twice to catch its breath—via two of the three heads. Based on what I could see, since it’s rear end was still inside it’s home, it was about the size of a giraffe. Something about this creature tugged at my memories until everything clicked. My grandma had told me about such things from her homeland. Even Bill had mentioned a dragon or two had stopped by the store. None of the
zmee
, or Russian dragons, Grandma had mentioned looked like this one. This pudgy
zmee
had a better chance of taking down a pizza delivery man than a light-footed werewolf.

It didn’t take long before I realized this couldn’t be the creature that took my package. So what the hell was going on?

“What do you want, Wolf?” Its third head gasped out the words. Evidently, leaving its dwelling had overwhelmed it. The second head was fast asleep, while the first one stared me down with all the fierceness it could muster. A bit of smoke drifted from its nostrils but not enough to even send a smoke signal.

“You know what I want. There’s no need for us to dance around the conversation,” I replied.
 

The oak tree above us rustled. My head whipped up, and I scanned the tree line. Nothing moved, so I used my nose. Something new had closed in to spy on us. Now that scent was familiar. That creature was my target.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the first head said. “This is private property. I have no quarrels with the South Toms River pack, so I suggest you take your threat somewhere else.”

This
zmee
was hiding something, so I decided to play its game for a little while. Maybe the first and third head would get tired like the second and give up.

“So you weren’t on my property this morning? Even though I tracked a particular scent stinking of earth magic to this very place?”

The third head did what could be considered a shrug with a slight grin. “Even if you did have a good enough nose to come find me, what makes you think you can take it back? It
rightfully
belongs to me.”

So there it is.
That sneaky little bastard was the other bidder, and he thought that he deserved the prize. We’d clashed back and forth online, with one person making a bid, and then the other one immediately making a counter bid. At first, I thought when I’d made a bid of around $200 that the other zealous bidder would back off, but based on all the clutter I saw, I had a worthy opponent who was just as eager as I was to own the figurine.

“I’ve been waiting nine years for that kobold to sell that thing. Hours and hours of research.” He gestured upwards. “Nine months to get that nymph up there to go down to the local Quick Trip and use a payphone to get that conniving house sprite to auction it off.”

Even if I did have him to thank for the win, I still got it fair and square. I also paid for it. “Well, thank you very much,” I said. “Now give me back what I bought.”

Above us, the branches rustled. My gaze drifted to the lithe, yet pale woman who sat on the tree above. She must be the guardian for this area. She didn’t have on a stitch of clothing, yet she appeared comfortable with the light breeze.

The
zmee
tried to slide forward, but failed miserably. Then the third head jabbed the second with its snout until it woke up. With a grunt and barely an eye open, the second head inhaled to breathe out fire only to choke on its own pitiful smoke.

“You can’t do anything right,” the first spat at the third.

The third head snapped at the first. “At least I do something. And I happen to be awake.”

The fight grew fierce as the second head, most certainly offended by what the third one said, bit down on its ear. “You dirty bastard.”

“Takes one to know one!”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re so full of it. Why not scare her off with your fire-breathing skills?”

One body with three heads bitching at each other was a sight. I watched with amusement, wishing for some popcorn. I never got this kind of entertainment at work.

The heads finally noticed I was still standing there. Then they made a rude gesture: they flipped me off.
 

The third head said, “Why don’t you come take it from me, Wolf? I only see you and me—an even fight.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “If you fought me, you’d die from exhaustion.”

The
zmee
snorted. “I’ve been alive for thousands of years. Talk is cheap, and so are your brand name shoes.”

There went my sorry-ass bluff. Damn it.

A wolf would
never
walk away from a situation like this. Especially if an overweight, barely smoke-breathing dragon tried to sass them.

My fingers twitched, and the wolf inside whined from indecision. There had to be a way to solve this without fighting him. But then again, the dragon couldn’t go anywhere anyway.

I searched through my purse until I found a set of matches. Since I often enjoyed a warm fireplace in the evening, matches came in handy. I waltzed over to a generous patch of dead grass near the tree.

“You wouldn’t dare,” the nymph screeched from above.

Now I didn’t need to tell them I wouldn’t set the tree on fire, but I saw no reason why I couldn’t push my point. I struck a match and waved it close to the ground. With a good breeze going through this area, the grass would burn quickly. The thick oak would be next. The nymph slid down from her high perch but stopped on a lower-lying branch. She was tiny, no match for me in werewolf form.

Now irate and angry, she spat curses to the
zmee
in a tongue I didn’t understand. Perhaps his lack of mobility was a bit of a sore point between the two.

The
zmee
sputtered in my direction. “I didn’t plan on keeping it. I only wanted some codes off them.”