The Werewolf Whisperer (The Werewolf Whisperer Series Book 1) (2 page)

Lucy
signaled to Jimmy with her hand.

The
leather brace on her forearm was strapped tight and made it difficult to turn
the wrist smoothly.

"No
point in freaking people out with your wrist scars," Xochitl had said to
her when they'd purchased the set of buckled leather bracers at the Folsom Ren
Faire over a year and a half ago.

That was one very odd day.

"Sit!"
Lucy matched the command to the gesture. Jimmy planted himself in front of her
feet immediately. From her perch, Xochitl squeezed the training clicker to
reinforce the command.

"Good
boy!" Lucy praised Jimmy and flicked a treat toward him. The boy caught it
in his mouth and chewed with exhilaration.

"On
your bed!" Lucy directed him to the fancy dog bed by the baby grand piano
in the alcove. Jimmy couldn't obey fast enough. He sped to his bed and curled
up in a tight ball.

Xochitl
clicked again.

"Now
give him a treat." Lucy encouraged Frank and Maggie. Frank flipped a round
cookie to Jimmy, who gobbled the treat up in a matter of seconds.

"Good
boy! You're a good boy!" Lucy used her high pitch training voice again. "Praise
him," she told the Stantons.

Maggie
and Frank walked closer, cooing elaborate compliments. Maggie reached out to
pet Jimmy's head, which he took as permission to get up. He yipped happily,
jumped from his bed and started spinning in circles.

"Are
you sure Jimmy's never tried to eat anyone he's not supposed to?" Xochitl's
question got an immediate response. Frank shook his head adamantly.

"Never!"
Maggie shot out so fast and loud, she actually scared Jimmy under the piano.

"You
sure? Really? Not even a nibble?" Xochitl wasn't about to let up. "What
about that cat Fat Dan's looking for?"

"Mrs.
Walters has twelve cats. She's always looking for her cats. Ten years we've
lived here and not a day goes by she isn't looking for a cat," Frank
scoffed.

"Fat
Dan seemed to have his chonies in a bunch though. And he did find that little
pink collar in your front yard." Xochitl looked at Lucy, eyebrows raised.

"Dan
is just trying to justify his existence. He wants to keep living in his mother's
basement. Wouldn't surprise me if he didn't do something to the cat, the little
creep." Maggie's words came fast.

"All
right, forget about Dan and the cat." Lucy saw the conversation derailing
in front of her.

"If
Jimmy really hasn't tried to eat anyone, that's good news. 'Cause you know,
once it goes that way — they don't come back."

As
she spoke Lucy noticed Jimmy creeping up behind Maggie, getting ready to
pounce. "He's playful. Down!" she interrupted herself, sending Jimmy
belly-down on the ground, instead of hurling himself at his mother's back.

Maggie
and Frank Stanton spun around, shocked to see Jimmy so close. Xochitl set the
delicate teacup on the side table with a clunk.

"I'm
thinking he's a Feral," Xochitl stated bluntly and shrugged her shoulders.

"What
does that mean?" Maggie Stanton sank down on the matching bleached
snakeskin covered chaise. She sounded overwhelmed.

"Ferals
and Hounds," Lucy started her usual lecture, "might have similar
physical characteristics, but the behavior is not the same. Hounds are like
dogs, you know, Lassie. But Ferals are more like wild wolves." The
Stantons both looked confused. Frank bent down to pet his son's head.

"Think
of it as a spectrum," Lucy tried to come up with an image the Stantons
could understand, "a double rainbow." She got up to crouch next to
Jimmy and Frank. "The Afflicted can fall anywhere from low-functioning to
high-functioning and from docile to violent. Each Were displays a unique
combination of these characteristics. Hounds and Ferals need strong leadership.
In the pack hierarchy that would be the alpha."

Lucy
signaled Xochitl to ready their assessment toy. "Jimmy has shown us he's
got an aggressive streak, which means, unlike some Ferals, he will always need
a tremendous amount of supervision and continuous training. That responsibility
falls to you. You must be his alpha, his leader."

Maggie
joined them on the floor, putting out her hand to pat Jimmy. Instead of
responding to his mother, Jimmy ducked his head away and looked at the door.

"See,
he doesn't really like that. He's ducking his head to tell you to back off. And
what's more, while he's seemingly submissive now, he's turning his lip up a
bit. That's aggression. I'm sorry but you can't really trust him."

A
hard red ball bounced over Jimmy's head. "Go get it!" Xochitl called
out while surveying the tray of pastries on the dramatic white sideboard. She
selected a bear claw, took a large bite and brushed the crumbs that dropped
onto her crocodile embossed black leather vest onto the floor.

Lucy
remembered how happy Xochitl had been to acquire the embarrassingly expensive
designer piece at an online auction for a fraction of the cost. It had held up
well, considering Xochitl never hesitated to join a fight, run down a Were or
jump into a body of water, which she had done on three occasions. Xochitl was
relentless, which Lucy appreciated every day.

Meanwhile,
young Jimmy set off after the red ball, crashing over the furniture and ripping
the elaborate eggshell colored rug.

"Early
17th century, Portuguese Armorial," Frank Stanton had said in his proud
designer voice when Lucy and Xochi had first arrived. "It's a copy, of
course," he had added awkwardly when Xochitl had responded with a bored
yawn.

"Nice,"
Lucy had said, oblivious. "But a rug like that is just an invitation for
chewing. I'd get rid of all rugs and runners until Jimmy is older and has
outgrown the chew impulse."

Probably
wishing now she'd followed Lucy's advice, Maggie Stanton looked at her
Portuguese Armorial rug wistfully. She put out her hand and yanked the ball
from Jimmy's mouth before he could do more damage. Jimmy growled low in his
throat. Maggie took a step back and bumped into Frank who had moved forward to
protect her. "Jimmy, don't growl!" Frank tried to sound
authoritative.

"Tell
him what you want him to do, not what you don't want him to do. His brain is
much simpler now. Don't confuse him." Lucy looked directly at Maggie. "And
don't rip the ball out of his mouth."

In
an act of open defiance, Frank snatched the red ball from his wife's hand and
flung it toward the sunroom. Jimmy again tore after the toy, eliciting unhappy
sounds from his mother.

"Pinche
lobo loco," Xochitl mumbled to herself and finished the last of her
pastry.

"Drop
it!" Lucy called out. Jimmy dropped the ball and perversely wandered over
to his mother for pets and praises.

"A
young Feral like him..." Lucy began to speculate, watching Jimmy closely
as he interacted with his mother and father. "You have to exercise him every
day. Two or three long walks. And never let him off-leash outside."

"My
hours at work..." Maggie Stanton said. "I'm on call a lot, and Frank
travels."

"You
have to be willing to do what it takes." Lucy looked at Xochitl
searchingly. "We could take him for a while—"

"We
have a three week boot camp at our ranch up north in Empyrean. It's nice. We've
had a lot of success there." Xochitl started the hard sell.

You've
never even been to the ranch, but you sure can sell it.

Lucy
appreciated Xochitl's charismatic sales pitch and made up her mind to talk to
Hanna again.

It's
been two years since K-Day, isn't it time I finally go home?

"At
this point a camp would be hard to manage..." Frank's tone had altered.
Lucy couldn't tell what had triggered the change, or if he just all of a sudden
had had enough.

"My
wife and I just don't know how to thank you for today." Mr. Stanton
started walking toward the door. "We learned a lot. And we appreciate how
busy you must be."

Lucy's
eyes flicked to Xochitl who gave a tiny shrug.

"Everybody
said 'Get The Werewolf Whisperer.' We couldn't stand the thought of putting him
down." Frank Stanton stopped; his words hung in the air.

Apparently
unable to stand the silence, Maggie Stanton cleared her throat. "Jimmy's
part of the family. Almost like he was still our son," she said with a
quiet but firm voice.

Lucy
saw Frank look at his wife with unadulterated hatred. Xochitl tugged on the
front of her vest, doing nothing to hide the disgusted look on her face.

"Now
that we know where everybody stands," Lucy said and returned to sit on the
leather couch. "Let me give you the honest truth. We've seen this before
in Ferals like Jimmy."

She
thought about her next words carefully and decided that giving the worst-case
scenario was the only way to convince the father to give up his son.

"Mr.
Stanton, keeping Jimmy would be like living with a tiger. It would be a lot of
work, and it could go fine for a while. But one day, you will not be able to
control his behavior. And that's gonna be a really bad day." Lucy stopped
herself from saying more.

"Why
don't you send him to our camp?" Xochitl tried to sound cheerful about the
prospect. "That's only a couple of hours from here. It's up in the
mountains. You could visit—"

"Let
me be clear," Frank Stanton said and took a protective step forward. "My
son, our son, will stay with us. We will take care of him. Here." He
looked to Maggie for support. "There's a doctor in West Hollywood who
specializes in declawing and defanging Hounds. You can't tell me Jimmy will be
dangerous to us without his claws and teeth."

"You
stupid son of a bitch!" Lucy jumped up from the couch, and stormed over to
stand toe to toe with Frank Stanton. "Why don't you amputate his fucking
arms and legs while you're at it!"

Jimmy
yipped and scrabbled under the coffee table, sending the Limoges china
clattering to the floor.

"I
think that will be all Ms. Lowell." Maggie Stanton's silken voice rose in
admonishment. "Ms. Magaña?"

"We
take cash," Xochitl replied, her tone unflappable. She took Lucy's arm and
pulled her partner toward the foyer. "We're done helping you."

Lucy
walked straight to the front door, knowing she would punch Frank Stanton in the
face if she as much as turned around to glance at Jimmy.

Outside
the bright February sun delivered a sky so blue it seemed to mock Lucy's dark
mood. She drank in the lush, sweet exotic-flower scent that permeated Beverly
Hills. Xochitl slammed the Mission-style front door, making the hinges rattle.

"Cash
in hand, chica." Xochitl waved a stack of bills in Lucy's face. "Can't
save 'em all."

An
enormous crash sounded from inside the house. Lucy and Xochitl made no move to
turn around but continued to El Gallo, their bright orange '66 Olds Toronado.

"They're
screwed!" Xochitl said as she opened the trunk to place her shotgun next
to the rest of their arsenal.

Lucy
crammed herself into the passenger seat and glimpsed the "new voicemail"
alert on her phone. "This is gonna to be fun," Lucy said and
reluctantly tapped the call back button.

Chapter 2

DR. K: Did they
gv go ahead???

OMEGA:
stick to the plan

DR. K: But kv rdy
now!

OMEGA:
do what ur told

DR.
K: Ur the boss :)

K-Day 24 months ago

Lucy Lowell tucked
into the shadows behind the white cinder block wall of
Xochitl's Cantina
and listened. Coarse Spanglish curses pierced the night, accompanied by loud
cheers and snatches of Tijuana narco-pop. Vicious barking and short, pained
shrieks lacerated the seedy revelry.

Through holes in
the camouflage canvas stretched over the parking lot's chain-link fence, Lucy
counted thirty East Los Locos gangbangers crowding around a shallow dogfight
pit. Strewn around, discarded like trash, lay lumps of fur and flesh Lucy didn't
have the stomach to focus on. Through the wall of men, Lucy caught a glimpse of
a blue nose pit bull turning away from its opponent, a muscular pit mastiff
mix.

"Handle your
dog, güey!" a paunchy man yelled from just outside the ring.

Accompanied by loud
taunts, men from each side of the pit dragged their dogs back to the scratch
lines. The mastiff's handler fussed at the dog's mouth, unfanging the dog's lip
from its teeth. Clearly dead tired and hurt, the blue nose pit bull started
toward the line of cages against the opposite fence.

"Whoa, Puta."
A young man with a baseball cap turned backwards yanked the dog's collar hard,
causing the pit to drop to the ground as if taking cover.

From her hiding
place, Lucy could see deep scratches on the pit bull's face, bite wounds
bleeding on the shoulder and old burn marks seared into the fur.

Lucy's stomach
cramped.

The dollar tacos
she and her partner Gabe had devoured on their way to Echo Park threatened a
hasty exit. Cabra Blanca, their favorite late night food truck, had been parked
close to the raid at Montana and Alvarado. Eddie, the owner, always included
extra mango guacamole with Lucy's order.

Guacamole! Shouldna
eaten. The dogfighting makes me sick enough. Why'd I chance it with the cabeza
quesadilla on top of those goat tacos?

Lucy breathed in
slowly and directed her gaze from the hurt dog to the few stars blinking in the
murky L.A. sky. The lights of an airplane outshone the sliver of the waning
crescent moon. She could make out the distant roar of jet engines.

"Bitch won't
fight no more, jefe." The young man with the cap delivered a kick to the
blue nose pit's side. An ugly curse cut through the tumult as a man in a
formfitting white T-shirt and dark designer jeans parted the crowd.

Memo Morales, cock
of the walk. Nice of you to join us.

Teeth clenched, Lucy
drew her sidearm and looked back down the alley. Officer Gabe Torres of the
LAPD Animal Cruelty Task Force quietly crouched down next to Lucy, indicating
with a nod that he too had spotted "El Gallo."

Her partner for
five years, Gabe was as fierce an animal rights protector as Lucy had ever met.
Both she and Gabe had risked both badge and incarceration many times, as they
rescued dogs from backyard dogfighting with or without departmental approval.

Tonight's raid was
another point of contention with their ACTF lieutenant. When the confidential
informant had approached Lucy and Gabe about dogfighting behind her cantina, it
had been just the break they'd been looking for. These East Los Locos had been
brokering dogfights for years, but their slippery leader Memo Morales, a.k.a. "El
Gallo," always managed to ensconce the events with aggravating efficiency.

Distressingly the
CI, Xochitl Magaña, had given Lucy and Gabe much more than they'd hoped for. El
Gallo and his Los Locos were running guns. The dogfights, while generating tens
of thousands of dollars on their own, were a mere front. Lucy and Gabe's
supervisor Lieutenant Heckman had turned their information over to her
superior, Captain Burch. Burch had taken the lead on the raid, called in SWAT and
only allowed the ACTF along as a courtesy after Lucy had begged to be involved.
Lucy and Gabe had been virtually cut out of the planning despite their
relentless pursuit of the East Los Locos dogfighting ring.

"Get rid of
it, Tuti!" El Gallo spat, prompting Lucy to inch forward. She could see El
Gallo throw a fistful of cash at another man and stalk into the cantina through
the backdoor.

The gangbangers
laughed and joked as more money changed hands. Pushing the baseball-capped
banger away, the man named Tuti threw a chain around the bloodied pit bull's
neck and dragged her clear of the wall of men. The exhausted dog cowered from
Tuti as he tightened the chain around her neck. Small whimpers reached Lucy's
ears.

"Just shoot
it." A thin teenage boy in baggy jeans and an oversized white T-shirt
approached Tuti with what looked like a Hi-Power Browning 9mm.

Nice gun
.

A detached part of
Lucy's brain noted the semi-automatic.

"¡Cállate,
Flaco! Let's have some fun." Tuti yanked the chain, smashing the pit's
chin into the asphalt. The sharp yowl caught the attention of the other
attending Locos who turned to watch Tuti's show.

Gabe's hand settled
on Lucy's arm and held tight. She would have bruises in the morning.

"Wait,"
he hissed.

Lucy tilted her
head to look directly into her partner's dark brown eyes. In a split second a
struggle resolved between them. Burch's words, "You two hotheads are on
thin ice," echoed in her memory. She knew Gabe remembered it too.

"X the bitch,
Tuti!" Drunken hysteria pitched the Locos' voices higher. "¡Fuego!
¡Fuego! ¡Fuego!"

Her eyes still
locked on Gabe, Lucy knew what was happening in the parking lot. Having
investigated the sad aftermath of the East Los Locos games, she knew what
inevitably came next. Slowly she nodded her head, and Gabe released his grip.
It wasn't the plan. It wasn't even smart.

Lucy rose to her
full height. Her Beretta clutched firmly, Lucy shot a quick smile to Gabe.
Easily on the taller side of six feet, muscled like a professional bodybuilder,
Gabe Torres looked scary as hell.

Glad you're on my
side, good buddy.

Lucy felt calm wash
down from her head to her toes. This was what she was made for.

*

Xochitl Magaña paced nervously behind the bar of her
cantina, anxiously waiting for the cops to arrive.

¡Santa Maria, reza
por mí!

Turning in her gangbanger boyfriend Memo was dangerous
at best.

I'm gonna be in deep shit if this doesn't go down
right...And Miguel, Memo'll...

"No,"
Xochitl hissed, squashing the sprouting thought before it could ripen. "This'll
work."

She snatched a
towel from its hook and began wiping down the individual liquor bottles that
lined the shelves behind the bar.

El Gallo's done.

Memo
Morales preferred the moniker "El Gallo" and fancied himself Tony
Montana.

¡Híjole!
What's with vatos and Scarface?

And
like an over-glorified, self-obsessed crime lord, El Gallo had exploited his
relationship with Xochi, using her bar as his headquarters — his command
center for the gang's illegal operation.

And I let him.

But El Gallo gave her protection —
something Xochitl desperately needed after her papa had died. And she had to
admit, just as Memo liked having the only fair-skinned, light-eyed, natural
blond ruca in the neighborhood, she'd initially liked the attention he'd given
her.

It
had been hard growing up a "güera" in the barrio — a place,
despite being Mexicana, Xochitl had never felt she truly belonged.

School
had been her refuge, and she'd even won an academic scholarship to UCLA.

I was so close to
getting out.

Then everything changed. Her father had a stroke. His
health rapidly deteriorated. She dropped all her classes. Moved back home. Took
over the bar. Took over care of Miguel.

Back in the hood,
back in the life — with Memo.

But
Memo went too far. Gun running. There was no way Xochitl could live with
herself knowing she had let this thug take over the business her papa had
worked so hard to build.

God,
what would Papa think of me now? I just wanted to keep the bar going and Miguel
safe.

Xochitl hated all of it: the dogfights,
the guns, the East Los Locos — Memo.

She shook off the flutter of nerves
vibrating up and down her spine and noticed she'd been wiping off the same
fifth of tequila. As she carefully placed the
Cuervo Gold
in its proper slot between the
Don Julio
and
Patrón
bottles,
she caught the reflection of her cantina in the mirrored glass that backed the
liquor racks lining the wall.

Wood and leather tables filled the space.
A '50s style jukebox, her papa's pride and joy, played only vinyl from the '60s
and '70s. "Mija, there's no other music." He would tell her whenever
she'd begged him to update the playlist. Various paintings of matadors and
bullfights attempted to lend a Spanish flavor to the rugged bar.

Xochitl's
Cantina
had been Xochi's
home since she was six when her father, Carlos, had left the Marine Corps,
following her mother's death. And in its heyday, her papa's bar had been the
favorite local hangout.

The
barrio Cheers.

By
the time she was eleven, Xochitl had a stepmother she couldn't stand and a new
baby brother she adored.

¡Híjole!
In one shot, Anita went from barfly to mother. What was Papa thinking?

But
Xochitl remembered how sad and lonely her papa had been after her mom had died.
He was honorable and would never have considered not marrying the mother of his
child. Carlos Magaña was the finest man Xochi had ever known.

Biting
back tears, Xochitl clenched her eyes. Her papa's warm and inviting spirit
echoed within every element of the cantina.

I
miss you Papa.

For
what seemed like the millionth time, Xochi looked up to the neon
DOS EQUIS
clock hanging over the bar.

2:37
A.M.? They're late. The fights'll be over and Memo'll leave soon. He's gonna
wonder why I'm still here and not waiting for him upstairs.

"Where
the hell are they?" she mumbled.

"Where
the hell's who?" Memo Morales asked.

Startled,
Xochitl whipped around, knocking over several liquor bottles. She barely
registered the clamoring rattle of glass hitting glass as Memo, who had come in
from the back without her noticing, stood behind her.

Shit!

Despite
the frozen crush of heart-stomping anxiety, Xochi couldn't help admire Memo's
movie star looks and how his white T-shirt and jeans emphasized his strong,
lean build. His big, hazel eyes always took her breath away. Tonight was no
different.

Still
the best-looking guy in the neighborhood.

"Who's
late?" Memo asked again, grabbing a beer from the cooler under the bar.

"Huh,
what?...Uh...no one. I mean, Miguel. He's late."

Memo
wrapped his arms around Xochi and tugged at her rose embroidered peasant
blouse. "¡Ay, mamí! Let the boy be. He's almost eighteen. A man." He
began kissing her neck. "Why don't you go upstairs, put on that sexy slip
thing I got you? I'm all wound up. You can help me relax.
"

Wrinkling
her nose at the smell of stale beer and dog, Xochi shrugged Memo off her. "What
do you know about it? He's not one of your boys."

Xochitl
knew she shouldn't be flippant with Memo. He had a short temper and could be
aggressive with her when he didn't get his way. But she couldn't help herself
when it came to her little brother Miguel. She hated it when Memo thought he
had any say in how Miguel was raised.

She
wanted to yell in Memo's face, "Stay away cabrón! He's mine!" Instead
she whispered, "I'm tired."

Xochitl
walked around to the front of the counter, trying to put distance between
herself and Memo. She could see in his eyes he was losing his patience.

Where's
la chota already?

Undeterred,
Memo closed the gap between them and grabbed her arm, yanking her to him. "I
said go upstairs and get in that pinche slip, bitch."

Xochitl
pulled her arm back and without thinking threw a right hook to his jaw.
Instantly, she felt pain shoot from her fist straight up her arm. "¡Ay
carajo!"

Shaking
out the sting from her hand, Xochi looked up and saw Memo stunned, holding the
left side of his face.

Oh,
fuck! What did I do?

Instinctively,
she began backing up toward the bar's front door to make her escape.