Hunter's Trail (A Scarlett Bernard Novel) (19 page)

Chapter 29

Will had put up Dr. Noring in a mid sized chain hotel just off PCH, not far from Molly’s house. I wondered why she wasn’t staying in one of Will’s guest rooms—I thought he had at least two—but decided not to ask. I fully intended to get to the bottom of their weird frenemy thing, but it could wait until the nova was caught and the Luparii scout’s ass had been kicked back to France. Meanwhile, Noring had agreed to meet us in the coffee shop at her hotel in twenty minutes, which was about the amount of time it took to get there.

The coffee shop was the most blandly generic room I’d ever been in. Simple wooden tables surrounded by four cookie-cutter wooden chairs with maroon pleather stretched over half an inch of padding. Plain, industrial carpeting. No signs or decorations of any kind. There was a haggard-looking African American barista with short, tight dreadlocks and suspiciously red eyes behind the counter. He gave us a bleary nod when we walked in and went back to leaning his head on his arms. At least someone had had a fun New Year’s Eve.

Jesse ordered us some coffee and we got settled at one of the tables. It had been varnished to a high gloss, and I suddenly longed to gouge out a chunk of the wood, just to add some character. Jesse gave me a suspicious glance like he knew exactly what I was thinking, and I just smiled sweetly.

Noring bustled in a moment later, wearing loose, comfortable-looking jersey pants and a red T-shirt with lace detailing around the collar. Her long black hair with its artful streaks of silver spilled down over her shoulders and chest. She looked irritable, which might have meant that she’d still been sleeping when I called. Then again, every time I’d seen her she’d looked irritable.

“Morning, Doctor N. Love your hair,” I said cheerfully.

Noring ignored the remark and sat down primly in the only chair at the table that wasn’t occupied by Jesse, me, or my leg. The barista slumped toward our table to deposit our coffees in front of Jesse and me, and Noring swiftly scooped my mug toward her own chest, claiming it for her own. Jesse raised his eyebrows at me but I decided to let the theft slide, mostly because I found her a teensy bit scary. “Dr. Stephanie Noring, this is Detective Jesse Cruz,” I said formally. “Jesse, this is Dr. Noring.”

Jesse held out his hand, but Noring ignored it. She eyed me up and down as she took a long sip of the coffee formerly known as mine. Then she snapped, “How is it that you look worse than before? What have they tangled you up in now?”

“O
h . . .
the Luparii are in town,” I said offhandedly. And Noring choked on her coffee, which was shamefully satisfying. Apparently invoking the Luparii was the equivalent of announcing a Beatles reunion tour—with all the original Beatles.

She coughed for a few moments, and Jesse shot me a glare that said,
You did that on purpose
. I shrugged at him. You have to take fun where you can get it, even if your idea of fun is getting middle-aged women to gag on hot drinks.

Eyes watering, Noring finally sputtered, “That’s impossible; this is America.” Fear was threaded into her voice, as if she were asking me to make it not true. Suddenly, I wasn’t having fun.

“They’re here,” Jesse said quietly. “And we need to know what you know about them.”

Noring looked from his face to mine and back. Then she abruptly stood, pushing her chair back with her knees. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “We do not talk about them.” She looked around furtively, like talking about the Luparii might make them manifest in front of her.

I was too lazy to haul myself back to the counter for a replacement coffee, so I reached over and grabbed Jesse’s, taking a sip. He gave me a look. “We’re sharing now,” I informed him. Looking back at Noring, I asked, “Is it like a Beetlejuice-Freddy Krueger thing? You think if we talk about them they’ll appear?”

“No. We believe talking about them will give them more power,” Noring corrected stiffly. Tension had pervaded her entire body. “Names, stories, legends—these things have a degree of magic attached to them, especially when told with feeling and memory.”

“I didn’t know you were superstitious,” I said mildly. I don’t spend a lot of time worrying about how magic works, since it doesn’t work at all near me. I’ve picked up a little bit of knowledge from working at witch-related crime scenes, and one thing I know is that witches don’t create magic—it already exists in the world, all around and part of us. Witches simply channel it into doing things. And at least some part of the reason that witches can access magic is because they believe that they can, which is why there are people with the innate ability to manipulate magic who live their whole lives without even knowing it. If Noring believed that talking about the Luparii would give them more power, and her belief was tied to her magic in any wa
y . . .
it was theoretically possible.

“There’s just one problem with that,” I said out loud. I set down my coffee and pointed my thumbs at myself. “Null.”

Noring’s eyes widened. “I keep forgetting,” she said slowly. I felt the subtle buzz of her magic flare up suddenly as she sort o
f . . .
flexed it.

Jesse looked between us. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

I answered him without looking away from the other woman. “I’m not sure she’s even aware of it, but Dr. Noring is trying some kind of spell right now.” The magic fizzled out against my radius. “See?” I asked her.

She nodded. “But that was a direct use of magic, you kno
w . . .
against you,” she admitted, her cheeks coloring slightly. “A conversation about the wolf-killers would just be putting magic out in the universe.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” I told her. “My radius extends in a sphere around me, not in a direct line between me and the nearest witch.”

“How do you know?”

I was sipping my coffee, but Jesse understood and answered for me. “Because,” he said, “the wolves can’t smell her when they’re in wolf form. We talked to a werewolf last fall who said she was a space in the smell.”

I nodded my head. “Their enhanced sense of smell comes from magic, and magic can’t interact when I’m around. As long as you keep your voice down, nothing you say ca
n . . .
go out into the universe,” I said, feeling silly about invoking the universe in a conversation. Witches, man.

Noring held my eyes, and I knew she believed me. But she still leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m still not going to say a word,” Noring said firmly. “Unless Scarlett promises to meet with an orthopedic surgeon.”

I snorted. “I didn’t know you cared, Doc.”

She gave me a piercing look. “You don’t get it, do you?” she snapped. “You’ve no idea what you even have here. Los Angeles isn’t
like
other cities. Haven’t you noticed the new members of Will’s pack? The new vampires who’ve made the city their home in the last few years? The Los Angeles Old World has gained a reputation for peace, for balance, and it’s growing.” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at my chest. “You are part of that, Scarlett. Like it or not, you’re important to this town. You have to take better care of yourself.”

I stared at her. I didn’t want to admit that I’d had no idea that the supernatural population had been getting bigger. Was that why I’d had more crime scenes lately? I suddenly felt very stupid. And very young.

Luckily Jesse jumped in for me. Unluckily he said, “I’ll take her to the doctor. I promise.”

She eyed him up and down. “Swear by your honor,” she said finally. The word should have sounded silly—who talks about honor at a hotel coffee shop? —but she used it with such gravitas that it would be hard
not
to take her seriously.

Jesse flinched, and I knew he was thinking that his honor was tainted. Without thinking I reached out and covered his hand with mine. He gave me a startled, grateful look, and said to Noring, “I swear by my honor. I’ll take Scarlett to a surgeon as soon as she can get an appointment.”

“Excellent,” Noring said with a smirk. She reached into her wallet and pulled out a business card from a doctor’s office, the kind with the lines on the back for appointment times. “I’ve already scheduled you to see Dr. Shapiro next Tuesday. He’s the best orthopedic surgeon on the West Coast. You’re welcome.”

I withdrew my hand. “Wait,” I protested. “Jesse, I can’t just—”

“We’ll be there,” Jesse said firmly, shooting me a glare. “Please, tell us about the Luparii.”

Noring looked down at her empty coffee cup. “What do you want to know?” she asked, careful to keep her voice down.

“Let’s start with how they manage to kill werewolves on a regular basis,” I said promptly.

For the first time since I’d met her, Noring looked genuinely shaken. “They use a spell.”

“I thought you couldn’t use magic against itself,” Jesse pointed out.

Noring shook her head. “Not a spell against the werewolves. They use a spell to create a creature that can fight werewolves.”

Jesse and I exchanged a look. “What creature?” Jesse asked, his patience obviously thinning.

Noring drew in a breath and blew it out slowly through pursed lips. “It has a few names,” she said hesitantly. “I’ve heard hellhound, or demon dog.” She turned her mug around and around in her hands. “But witches usually call it a bargest.”

Chapter 30

“Isn’t that like a fairy-tale thing?” Jesse said, somewhat less politely than before.

Noring waved a hand dismissively. “There are many stories about the bargest.
The Hound of the Baskervilles
, for example. But the bargest is real, although it’s not at all natural.” She asked, “Do you know how modern hunters kill wild wolves?”

I knew about as much about hunting as I did about water polo—nothing—so I shook my head, but Jesse answered grimly, “They use dogs.”

Noring nodded. She glanced at the barista, who appeared to have nodded off on his stool with one hand propping up his face. She continued, “The Luparii used packs of dogs to hunt wolves for centuries. But when they tried to adopt the same plan to hunt werewolves, the wolves simply killed the dogs. They were too strong, too fast—even a single werewolf versus a whole pack of dogs. They tried crossbreeding different kinds of dogs next, even breeding the most vicious of them with wild wolves.” She shuddered. “There are stories about some of their creations, which I try not to think about.”

I winced. My mother had been a veterinary assistant, and she had spent more than one family dinner venting about recklessly negligent dog breeders. She’d firmly believed that anyone who breeds dogs should be required to spend a week in their dogs’ conditions.

Noring drained the rest of her coffee. Jesse looked impatient, but Noring didn’t seem in any hurry to continue the story. I prompted gently, “They crossbred dogs with wolve
s . . .
”

The doctor hardened her face to keep any expression inside. “But none of it worked, so they incorporated their magic. The Luparii make thing
s . . .
twisted,” she said distastefully. “Corrupt. They still breed the dogs with wolves, as big as possible, and they channel a tremendous amount of magical energy into one dog, usually a male. As a side effect, the spell turns him coal black, which is where the stories about the black demon dog originate. But the main purpose of the spell was to design a creature, something they could control, that was able to keep up with a werewolf physically.”

“Genetic experimentation by way of magic,” Jesse said thoughtfully. “It’s interesting, in a diabolical super-villain kind of way.”

Noring snorted. “The Luparii are not super-villains, I can promise you that. They’re more like a cult of magically gifted thugs.”

“Even so,” I said helplessly. “We’re up against evil dogs from hell.”

“That’s not entirely fair,” Noring said, frowning. “Magic itself isn’t good or evil. The bargest spell simply creates physical abilities that are then twisted into killing. The bargest is as fast and tireless as a werewolf, with tough skin that the wolves can’t bite through, and they can heal as fast as werewolves. They live for a long time too, because the Luparii didn’t want to put all that work into the creature for a ten-year life span. But its brain is still the brain of a dog. The Luparii are the ones who train it to kill.”

I glanced at Jesse, who looked disgusted. “Like bully breeds,” he said to me. To Noring he said, “We have degenerates here who breed pit bulls and rottweilers, and then pour pain and hate into them until they’re basically a weapon. I’ve seen those dogs. The people who do that to the
m . . .
they’re monsters.”

Noring nodded. “That was the Luparii’s plan too,” she said crisply. “They see werewolves as monsters and vermin. So they created their own monster to fight them. Killers who can hunt and smell magic. And it worked: a bargest can handle a werewolf without much difficulty. Two, even.”

I thought I picked up a note of bitterness in her voice. “Will said you ran into them before,” I said neutrally. “But you’re obviously not a werewolf.”

“I’m an oncologist,” she retorted. Her chair pushed back suddenly as she stood up. Noring stalked a few feet away, out of my radius and toward the doorway where the coffee shop opened into the hotel lobby. She surveyed the lobby with her back to us. Jesse started to speak, but I touched his arm again, shaking my head. I glanced at the barista, but he was still half-asleep on his arm.

Finally Noring paced back to our table, sitting down with stiff limbs. “The Luparii work with death magic. Sacrifices,” she hissed, her voice brittle with tension. “And the bargest spell requires a human.”

I blinked. I’ve encountered witches who used sacrifices, but I’d only seen small birds—chickens and doves, mostly. Images from movies filled my mind. As if she could see them, Noring shook her head. “It’s not as melodramatic as it sounds. Money has never been a problem for them, so they go into a hospital, find a terminal patient with lots of medical debt and a family to support, and they
buy
him.”

“And you’re an oncologist,” I said, finally understanding. “They bought one of your patients?”

She nodded. “They tried to. That’s when I asked around and found out about the Luparii. I was young and idealistic; I tried to intervene. This was twenty-five years ago, in Suffolk.”

“Why?” Jesse asked. “I mean, you clearly have no love for the werewolves, and your patient would get lots of money.”

She stared at him coldly. “You know nothing about my relationship with werewolves. And I believe in the soul. Death magic is like using the soul as
fuel
,” she spat out. “It’s sick.”

“What happened?” I asked. “Did your patient go through with it?”

She turned away, as much as the wooden chair would allow. “I don’t know. The Luparii weren’t pleased with my interference. I came to the States to get away from them.”

My fingers clenched into fists. Who
were
these clowns? Who had the power to scare Dashiell, Beatrice, and Dr. Noring out of Europe altogether?

“How do we kill it?” Jesse asked, trying to get us back on track. “The bargest, I mean.”

“You don’t,” Noring said simply. “Their hides are too thick for bullets, and bigger weapons are too conspicuous for the Old World. Spells don’t work on them, because they’re already made from magic.” She nodded at me. “Even you wouldn’t be able to undo the spell, I believe. Bargests are permanently changed.”

“Dammit,” I complained. “How do bad guys keep finding these frickin’ loopholes?”

Jesse ignored me. “Could you undo the spell?” he asked Noring. “I mean, if we captured it, could it b
e . . .
I don’t know, dissolved?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that, not when there’s a sacrifice involved. A trade has already been made: a human life in exchange for the magic to be placed in the creature. To undo it, you’d need a second human sacrifice and a full coven of witches, or a very powerful boundary witch—not to mention an ancient strain of mandrake root.” Noring realized her voice had gotten louder and leaned forward to continue quietly, “Even then, I doubt anyone outside of the Luparii could pull it off. They haven’t exactly shared the secrets of the bargest spell.”

“Boundary witch?” Jesse asked, eyebrows raised.

“Witches whose particular skills are in death magics,” Noring said shortly. “They are anathema even among other witches. I’ve never even met one, or at least a witch who would admit to being one.”

I winced. The first dead body I’d ever destroyed, back when I was working with Olivia, had been that of a witch who had died playing with death magics. We wouldn’t be undoing the bargest spell anytime soon.

We asked a few more questions after that, but we’d reached the limits of Noring’s knowledge on the subject. Jesse asked if we could call her if we thought of something else, and Noring shrugged her assent. “I won’t be here much longer, though,” she warned. “My deal with Will was to stay until Scarlett was healed or she could be handed off to another doctor. And now you have an appointment.”

“Ha!” I cried. “I knew it. You don’t actually care about getting me better; you just want to go home.”

Noring gave me a hard look, then fixed a glare on Jesse. “You. Take her home
right now
,
make her rest for at least two hours, with ice for the knee and anti-inflammatories.”

Whoops. I had maybe been a little too mouthy just then. Jesse gave me a sidelong glance, clearly uncomfortable. “We’re in the middle of an investigation—”

The doctor snorted. “With the wolves, I know. The full moon’s still two days away. A couple of hours aren’t going to hurt. Look at her. She’s going to fall over.”

“Hey!” I protested, but Jesse was already assessing me like I was a used car he might buy. And it was true, I felt like shit. But in a way, focusing on the investigation kind of helped—at least it meant I wasn’t sitting around dwelling on the pain. I made a face at him, and he gave me a tiny smile.

“She’s right, a few hours won’t hurt. We could both use the rest,” he told me.

Noring added stiffly, “I probably won’t see you again, Scarlett.”

“Bu
t . . .
” Dammit, I kind of liked having a physician on hand for when I inevitably fucked up and hurt myself. But it made sense—she’d been here almost two weeks, and she had to get back to her own life. I swallowed and started again. “I understand. Thank you for everything.”

Noring sniffed. “Tell Carling to find someone else next time. This was my last favor.” She stood to leave.

Before she could walk away, I said quickly, “What is it between you and Will, anyway? You act like you hate the guy, but you flew halfway across the continent to do his bidding.”

Whoops. Noring glared death rays at me, and I realized I could probably have phrased that more tactfully. She said icily, “Ask Will.”

“I did. Right before we came here,” I replied. “He looked pointedly at his watch and suggested we should shake a leg.”

“Or four,” Jesse muttered under his breath. We high-fived.

Noring ignored us. “Maybe he thought it was none of your business.”

“He trusted you enough to give you full access to my body while I was unconscious,” I pointed out, more serious now. “Doesn’t that kind of make it my business?”

Noring dug her key card out of her pocket and straightened her top, and I figured she wasn’t going to answer. But she relented. “Will,” she said severely, “trusts me because I was his doctor too.” She spun on her heel and marched out of the coffee shop.

Jesse and I looked at each other with matching “what just happened”
faces. “Did she jus
t . . .
say that Will used to have terminal cancer?” he asked incredulously.

I nodded and mused, “I guess I’ve never asked Will how he was changed. He probably decided to become a werewolf when Noring couldn’t cure him medically. Or maybe it was the other way around—Noring’s a witch, so she could have arranged it for him.”

“Why would that make her hate him, though?” Jesse said quizzically. “I mean, if she helped him become a werewolf, why would she be pissed at him?”

I shrugged. “Maybe it’s a God complex thing, like she’s mad that magic succeeded where she failed. Or maybe she wanted him to stay in Minnesota or something, and he left.”

“Mayb
e . . . 
,” Jesse said dubiously. “Anyway, we need to figure out what to do about the Luparii and the nova wolf.”

“Oh. I know exactly what to do,” I announced. “I’m thinking maybe we should find them and stop them.” I wiggled my eyebrows up and down. “You know. In their tracks.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you say ‘The hunter will become the hunted,’ I’m gonna throw your cane out of the car window.”

Jesse drove me back to Molly’s, where he fetched an ice pack and a glass of water, helped me up to my room, and handed me the bottle of Vicodin. After I’d swallowed two of them, there was a moment of awkwardness while he arranged pillows under my knee, the two of us in close proximity. He smelled the way he always did, like Armani cologne and oranges. The oranges had always been a pleasant mystery, since I’d never seen him eat one. “Do you need anything else?” he asked softly, and maybe I was imagining things, but I felt like there was another question beneath it:
do you want me to stay?

“I’m good,” I said with cheer that fell flat. Sleeping together now would be a bad idea for a lot of reasons, even if it was just sleeping. I was sure of my romantic interest in Jesse, but not sure about pretty much everything else. And my knee hurt. It just wasn’t the time or the place—especially considering the pills I had just taken.

“But maybe you could just crash on the couch for a couple of hours?” I added.
Didn’t make sense for him to go all the way home, either
,
I told myself.

He nodded. “If you need anything, just yell,” he told me, but my eyes were starting to droop already. I mumbled something that even I didn’t really understand, and fell asleep with the impression of him smiling on the way out of my room.

The next thing I knew, someone was gently but insistently squeezing my hand, over and over again. “Scarlett,” Jesse said quietly, “Wake up. We need to go.”

“Time’s it?” I muttered, but Jesse understood.

“It’s five o’clock. I just got a call back from the woman who’s in charge of Humans for the Protection of Animals, Cassey Maximus.”

I yawned, squinting at him. “Sounds like a fake name to me.”

“Scarlett,” he said patiently, “three members of her group went missing last night. Three women.”