Page 50 of Dead Heat

Leo doused a pretzel in yellow mustard. “I feel like this is a surprise birthday party, only it isn’t my birthday.”

“More of a funeral,” Anna murmured.

West elbowed her in the side.

Bert thrust a soft pretzel at the chief. “Have one before they go stale.”

She stared at him as she reluctantly accepted the pretzel. “Is there going to be a PowerPoint presentation?”

“No slides,” West said.

“But only because the pictures wouldn’t do the topic justice,” Anna added.

“You’d better get on with it,” the chief said. “I can feel my heart rate increasing with every new sentence.”

West blew out a nervous breath. “We know you’ve probably been wondering about the creatures spotted in town the other day. The flying dogs.”

The chief scratched the scruff of her neck. “They were real? I thought they were part of a collective fever dream.” She noticed our stares. “What? My grandad was big on acid trips in the sixties. I’ve heard a lot of stories.”

“They were as real as the hair on West’s head,” Anna said.

“That’s impossible.” She paused. “Isn’t it?”

Leo swilled his beer. “You said they were rabid bats.”

“I lied,” I said.

“I told you I trusted you,” Leo shot back. “And that’s how you repay me?”

I pushed aside my fears and dove in the deep end. “Jessie Talbot was right. They were basically giant flying dogs. They’re called the Erinyes, otherwise known as the Hounds of Hades.”

Leo laughed; the chief’s face remained stoic.

“They’re otherworldly creatures who can take the form of dogs,” I continued.

“Like werewolves?” he asked.

West held up a finger. “We’ll get to those in a minute.”

Leo glanced at the chief. “Is there a hidden camera in here?”

The chief said nothing. Her brown eyes were sharp and focused, and her lips were pressed together. I waited for her to ask a question, but only Leo stepped up to the plate.

“If they were real, why couldn’t I see them?” Leo asked.

“Because you don’t have the Sight,” I explained, “but many residents of Fairhaven do, especially those whose families have been here for generations. Somewhere in their human bloodlines, a supernatural slipped in— most likely one of the fae—and passed down their ability to recognize nonhumans and otherworldly creatures.”

Chief Garcia eyed me closely. “And you have the Sight?”

Here we go. “I don’t need it. I’m not entirely human.”

“Does that mean you have fae blood?” she asked.

“Not to my knowledge.” I couldn’t quite bring myself to reveal my identity. I’d been doing a commendable job of sharing my true self with the friends I’d made in Fairhaven, yet my tongue grew dry at the prospect of telling the police. To be fair, my resistance to authority ran deep thanks to Pops.

To my great relief, West intervened. “I don’t have fae blood either. I’m a werewolf.”

The chief strangled a laugh. “You were serious earlier? An actual werewolf? Like you turn furry once a month and howl at the moon?”

---