Otherworld Nights (25 page)

“And your brother?”

His head shot up. “Mark? N-no. He’s not even here. He lives in North Bay.”

“But he was here when Dillon Mitchell died. We know that. He was seeing Dillon’s girlfriend.”

Eaton tried to hide a surge of fear, but it was so strong I could smell it.

“No. Our dad raised us right. We don’t kill people. We sure as hell don’t eat them. I know how this must look, and yes, I knew about Dillon and I was afraid that’s why you were here, but it’s a complete coincidence. The night Dillon died, I was with my girlfriend, in the next town over. I can give you her name. It’s only fifteen kilometers away, so sure, I could have come back and killed Dillon, but that wouldn’t make sense. My girlfriend doesn’t know what I am, obviously, so I’m not going to come back here, Change for a run, kill a guy, then go back and crawl into bed with her.” That would be true if Dillon had just been a guy he’d bumped into on a run. But if it was murder—if Eaton killed him intentionally—this would provide a decent alibi. Which would make more sense if this Eaton, not Mark, had been the one dating Dillon’s girlfriend.

“So you were at your girlfriend’s, and your brother was here alone?” I said.

A pause.

“We know he was here that night,” I said. “You say you weren’t. Ergo, he was here alone.”

“He might have been with Lori. That’s—”

“Dillon’s girlfriend. So they were a couple?”

This would seem a simple-enough question. Far simpler than being asked about murder and cannibalism. But he hesitated, his jaw working, chewing over a response.

“Yes,” he said finally. Tentative agreement. Uncertain. He followed with a firmer, “Yes. They are. I’d rather he was dating someone closer to his own age, but it doesn’t seem to be serious. I’m sure they were together that night. Maybe even at the party.” A pause. Then, firmer again, “Yes, they would have been at the party. Which means Mark didn’t do it.”

“I thought you
knew
he didn’t do it,” I said. “Because he’s not a man-eater.”

“Of course. But
you
don’t know that, so I’m pointing out that it wouldn’t make sense for Mark to be at a party with a girl, then sneak out to Change and hunt down her ex-boyfriend.”

His logic was flawed. Before the party, Dillon hadn’t realized he
was
Lori’s ex-boyfriend. That could have led to a fight. If Mark wanted him out of the picture, he could kill him as a wolf, which presumably couldn’t be traced back to him.

“I want to speak to Mark,” I said.

“He went home to North Bay, like I said.”

“Okay. Give me his cell phone number.”

“He doesn’t have one. Can’t afford it.”

“His landline, then.”

No answer.

“E-mail address?”

“He’s … in the bush. I know that sounds bad, but he does it all the time. Just packs a bag and heads off for a week or so.”

“In the middle of winter?” I said.

“Sure. Camping’s fine if you have the right equipment.”

“And where is he camping?”

“Somewhere outside North Bay. He doesn’t have set spots.”

“Of course he doesn’t.”

I stepped back. Clay shot forward. Eaton tried to scramble up, but he was too slow. Clay grabbed him by the shirtfront and slammed him into the wall.

“You say you don’t know who we are, but you’re full of shit. We can
smell
the lies. No matter how isolated you are, you have some contact with other werewolves. Every mutt does. It’s a matter of survival. There’s exactly one female werewolf out there. Not hard to figure out who she is, which means you know who I am, too.”

“I-I wasn’t sure …”

“Bullshit. Who am I?”

Eaton didn’t answer. Clay plowed his fist into Eaton’s stomach. Eaton gasped, eyes rolling.

“Try again. Who am I?”

“Clayton Danvers.”

“And who’s she?”

“Elena Michaels. I mean, Dan—”

“Michaels,” Clay said. “So you know who we are. Now tell me what we do. Who does Elena speak for?”

“The Alpha. She speaks for the Alpha. You two enforce the will of the Alpha. You keep the Laws of the Pack. You hunt man-eaters.”

“And what do we do when we find them?”

He swallowed. “You kill them.”

“No.” I stepped forward. “For a first-time offender, we remind him of the Law. We show him why it’s not wise to break the Law. It’s a painful lesson, but there’s no permanent damage until the second lesson. There is no third lesson. By that point, it’s clear the problem isn’t one the werewolf wishes to resolve.”

Was that standard procedure in every instance? No. Every case was different. But those were the basic stages we followed.

I took another step, close enough to see sweat beading on Eaton’s broad forehead. “If your brother confesses to accidentally killing and eating Dillon Mitchell, he’ll get the first lesson. However, if he refuses to come forward, I’ll need to dig deeper to find him, which may turn up more cases and make us decide that he’s passed the point of warnings.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

“Yes, you do. You have twenty-four hours to get him and call us. Understood?”

Eaton nodded.

We returned to Noah and moved the truck to an empty cottage a half-kilometer away. Then Noah and I hiked back. I was certain
Eaton knew where his brother was, and pretty sure he was the one hiding him. So we hoped to catch him going to check on him. But he didn’t. We waited for an hour—swapping spots halfway so I could warm up—then Nick called to say Reese was almost done cooking and the kids were simmering themselves, watching the clock. We headed back.

We found dinner on the table. Everyone was just settling in. When Kate and Logan didn’t greet us at the door, I told myself they were just hungry. Parents can’t compete with food. When we walked into the dining room and neither looked up, I knew trouble was brewing.

“That man came over today,” Logan said before I could sit down. “He brought us a present.”

“So I heard,” I said.

Logan pulled his toy from his lap and set it on the table. “It’s a Siberian husky.”

“No,” Kate said. “It’s a wolf.”

Logan shook his head. “The tag says they’re huskies. And they have blue eyes.” He pointed at the bright blue beads. “Wolves can’t have blue eyes.”

“They can if they’re babies.”

“Your sister’s right,” Clay said. “Wolves can have blue eyes when they’re first born. But Logan is correct, too. Those are huskies.”

“Logan’s is a husky. Mine’s a wolf.”

I smiled and bent to stroke her curls as I passed. “All right. Yours is a wolf. Do you have a name for her yet?”

She looked up. Her gaze met mine. I could feel that gaze searching, and I struggled to hold it, to keep smiling.

“Why are we being mean to the man, Mommy?” she asked.

“We aren’t—”

“Uncle Nick was mean to him. Uncle Nick’s never mean to anybody.”

I glanced across the table. Nick looked at me helplessly.

“I don’t think he meant to be mean,” I said carefully. “But the man is a stranger, and we don’t like strangers giving gifts to our children. You know the rule. We don’t take anything from strangers.”

“But he’s one of us.”

“She has a point,” Reese said from down the table. “You really should be nicer to a fellow Canadian, Elena. Aren’t you guys supposed to be nice all the time?”

I made a face at him.

He leaned toward Kate and mock-whispered. “I think your mom’s been down in the States too long. She’s getting rude, like your dad. Then she comes up here, and another Canadian is just being friendly and she gets all suspicious, because in the States no one is friendly.”

“Uncle Nick is.”

“Uncle Nick’s weird.”

Nick shot back and they continued on, the others joining in, successfully distracting the twins. At least for now.

A
fter dinner, everyone cleaned up for Reese, then left him prepping pancake batter for the morning while they went outside. I stayed with Reese.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” I said.

“No worries. They’re smart little guys. That’s good in some ways.” He took down the flour. “And a pain in the arse in others.”

“No kidding.” I walked to the fridge, poured myself a glass of water, and handed him a bottle of beer.

He checked the label and let out a sigh of relief. “Not American. Thank you.”

He popped the top and chugged half the bottle.

“I was wondering something,” I said. “How old were you when you found out you were a werewolf? If you don’t mind talking about it.”

I knew what had happened in Australia. I was the only one Reese had told. Clay realized he’d told me—we don’t keep secrets—but he’d never ask me for the details. He was just glad that someone knew.

Reese’s parents had been killed by the Australian Pack. It was an old grudge. Every Pack is different and it seems the Australian one fit into the “gang of thugs” category. His parents had been hiding since before he was born, and when they were found, it was through Reese. Not his fault. But he blamed himself. So I raised the subject of his youth—and, by extension, his parents—as little as possible.

“It’s getting easier,” he said. “Never going to be easy, but if I
won’t talk about them?” He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem right. Not what they’d want.”

“No, I’m sure it isn’t.”

He took another long draw on the bottle, then measured the baking powder before continuing.

“I don’t remember them telling me. Maybe I always knew, or maybe I was so little that I don’t remember finding out. It was just part of who we were. Dad could Change into a wolf. Which meant he could hear me if I snuck out of bed at night or smell my scent all over the kitchen if I’d raided the refrigerator, so there was no use lying about it. That was normal life for me.”

That’s what Clay had wanted. Don’t make a big production out of it. Just let them grow up with it as part of their lives. I couldn’t believe he’d suggest such a thing. Let
toddlers
know their parents Changed into wolves? We’d have to police every encounter with non-supernaturals until they were old enough to understand why it was a secret.

“And you never let something slip? To the kids next door or down the street?”

He lifted his brows. “Remember where I grew up?”

“Right. Sheep farm. The outback. No kids next door.”

“Sure there were. If by ‘next door’ you mean the farm ten kilometers over. By the time I was old enough to visit on my own, I was practically old enough to Change. Sure, I had playtime with other kids. My parents made sure I didn’t grow up a completely antisocial little heathen. They’d drive me to town twice a week for footy from the time I was old enough to kick a ball. Dad was always there, in case I stuffed up.”

“Which you never did.”

“Uh, not exactly. When I was three, Mom took me to the zoo and I was watching the wolves and informed a lady that my dad could turn into one of those. She called the cops. They sent scientists to kidnap and study him …” He grinned over at me.

“Let me guess—she patted you on the head and told your mother you had a vivid imagination.”

“Nah, she gave Mom shit for letting me watch horror movies. Then, when I was five, I was watching cartoons at a family friend’s place. There was a wolfman, and I said that wasn’t a proper werewolf and tried to tell the other kids what a proper werewolf was.”

“And your dad stopped you?”

“Nope. He let me finish, then explained the difference between folklore werewolves and movie werewolves. Both times, though, I caught hell when I got home. Got a long lecture plus a double helping of chores around the farm. I learned my lesson.”

He finished his beer, then covered the dry pancake mix with plastic wrap. “You thinking of telling the twins?”

“I … don’t know. They’re so young.”

“Yep. You don’t live on the outback. And your kids are in school already, which my parents never had to worry about, with me being homeschooled. Tough choice. I wouldn’t want to make it.” He grabbed another beer from the fridge. “You coming outside?”

I nodded.

“Good. I told the kids we were going to sabotage Nick’s snowshoes. We’ll need you to distract him while we work.”

Snowshoe lessons from Noah. A hike through the woods with the kids, Reese and I keeping our snowshoes on, Nick abandoning his halfway through after landing in one too many snowdrifts, Clay doing the same … possibly because Nick wasn’t the only victim of snowshoe sabotage.

Nick didn’t figure it out. Clay did. I landed in a snowbank of my own. Kids piled on. Snowball fight ensued. Bonfire back at the cottage. No interruptions. No unanswerable questions. Kate snuggled up on my lap at the fire while Logan sat with his dad and Reese, deep in a discussion I was too sleepy to follow.

The kids’ good mood continued to bedtime. We let them stay up with the adults, then put them down after midnight. The twins brought their toy dogs, and as they settled in, Kate put hers on her chest, staring at it. I tensed and glanced at Clay. He shook his head in answer to my unasked question. Don’t try to distract her. Just wait and deal with whatever was coming.

“The man said his friend has sled dogs,” Logan said. “He invited us to come see them. Kate said dogs don’t like us, but he said these ones like all kids.”

“They won’t bite or run away,” Kate said. “He promised.”

“That’s a hard thing to promise,” Clay said.

“But we could try, couldn’t we?” Logan asked. “He says they’re close by. We can play with the dogs and, if we want, we can take a sled ride.”

Kate looked at me and asked, “Can we?” with none of her usual imperiousness. She feared what the answer would be. Sensed it, I think.

“We’ll see,” Clay said.

She nodded. Admittedly, a “We’ll see” from me was often Mom-speak for “Probably not, but I don’t want to disappoint you and I’m hoping if I delay an answer you’ll forget the question.” From Clay, it really did mean we’d consider it.

“I’m not sure it will work out,” Clay said. “But if Mr. Eaton’s offer still stands after Christmas, we’ll take you over.”

An honest response. Both children nodded. And that was it. No anger. No more questions. They curled up between us with their stuffed dogs and fell asleep.