Page 40 of Brimstone and Broomsticks
“Then he would have been home.” I took a bite of the frittata, marveling as I always did at Glenda’s amazing culinary skills. “Unless he told his buddies not to take him home. Who would be pissed enough at Clinton Dickskin that they’d kill him? Or nearly kill him?”
“That much blood loss, I’d normally say vampires,” Glenda added thoughtfully. “Except they wouldn’t waste it dumping the blood in a hotel room.”
“This wasn’t a vampire getting carried away,” I told her. “This was someone who wanted Clinton dead, whether they succeeded or not. They tried to frame Lucien for it. No one is going to do that for a simple brawl where the next morning Clinton can name his attacker. The blood in that hotel room means someone wanted Clinton dead.”
“If they killed him, why not leave his body in my hotel room with the blood?” Lucien asked. “It’s what I would have done.”
He was right. If there had been a dead werewolf in that room, Lucien would be in lockup right now. “Maybe that’s what they planned, but Clinton got away and this was the next best thing? Maybe they’re hoping he died in a ditch somewhere, and Lucien is still the top suspect?”
“Let’s think this through,” Lucien said. “I fight with Clinton outside the tavern. His friends haul him off to nurse his bruised ego. Something happens and he either gets into another fight, or someone takes the opportunity to knife him.”
I shrugged. “Could be a planned hit and Clinton spoiled it all by managing to get away before dying. Could be a spur-of-the moment thing, and someone frantically tries to pin the blame on you in case Clinton ends up found dead in a ditch the next day. Who knows?”
“Full moon tonight though.” Lucien took a bite of his bacon. “Can’t be a coincidence.”
I nodded. “It’s when all the shifters go a bit nuts. The wards help keep the moon sickness somewhat under control, but there’s always fights, vandalism, unexpected pregnancies.” I remembered the tension between the two werewolves yesterday afternoon, when I’d been at the pack-house asking for the charges against Lucien to be dropped. “Maybe this is less about the moon, and more about pack politics?” I mused.
Glenda’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “Crap. Not another alpha fight. That last one nearly destroyed the town.”
Not that any of us had been alive for the last one, but that sort of turmoil lived on in legends. Grandma had let the werewolves work it out mostly on their own, only intervening when the violence began to spill over to the rest of the town residents, but even so there had been some property damage, a few broken bones, and no one had felt easy watching the werewolves battle it out on the mountain, or whenever they happened to come to town which had been more frequently than anyone had wanted. In the end, eight werewolves were dead, and Dallas Dickskin had become the new pack alpha. The werewolves still continued to cause trouble, but nothing compared to the battle of the alphas.
“So Clinton makes a play for alpha?” I shook my head. “Not the smartest move after getting beaten up by a demon. You’d think the guy would have the brains to wait until he was fully healed.”
“Night before the full moon,” Glenda pointed out. “Clinton comes home pissed off. Dallas says the wrong thing. A fight turns into something a whole lot more, and suddenly there’s a challenge. Not like those things don’t happen all the time in pack hierarchy. Dallas has been riding his ass since Clinton was a teen. If you haven’t seen that coming to a head, then you’re blind.”
There had been a lot of jockeying for position among the werewolves in the last few decades. Heck, last year one of the females nearly unseated Clinton for pack second. The only reason she wasn’t dead was because werewolves, especially misogynistic ones like Dallas and Clinton, were reluctant to kill their females.
“But why smear a bunch of blood in my hotel room if that’s the case?” Lucien asked. “Aren’t alpha battles exempt from your town laws regarding assault and murder?”
I grimaced. “Sort of. Last time there was an alpha battle was forty years ago. Grandmother allowed the deaths to be considered an internal pack matter as long as no non-werewolf died during the fighting, and as long as the werewolves could show that the challenge battles followed their pack laws and those who died were truly killed in a challenge fight.”
“But do you really believe that?” Lucien asked softly.
I met his gaze, knowing what he meant. The diary last night… Grandma had her doubts, but hadn’t wanted to go up against a pack of werewolves with only my mother to back, or not back, her up.
“No, but what could one witch do?” I shrugged. “I remember hearing her and Mom discussing it once. I think it had been less of a rules-based challenge battle and more of a gang war up there on the mountain. I think Grandma had her hands full just making sure the violence was contained to the werewolf territories.”
But that child… Lucien was clearly remembering that as well.
Glenda pushed her plate away from her. “What would happen if there were an alpha battle now? We’ve got a mayor and a sheriff, but no Grandma to keep the werewolves in line.”
Oh no. I knew where she was going with this. “The mayor and the sheriff are perfectly capable of keeping law and order here. The days of a witch running this town are over.”
“Are they?” Lucien sat back in his chair. “Are fights to the death among the werewolves going to be written off as pack politics like they were forty years ago? Are the mayor and sheriff just going to take the alpha’s word for it that the dead wolves are challengers who knew this was a fight to the death? Are they capable of making sure the town isn’t destroyed by rival werewolf gangs?”
“Sheriff Oakes can handle it,” I told him, not believing that for one second. That werewolf child… He’d not been a challenger, and even if he had, a child’s life should never have been forfeited in a challenge battle. It was against pack law. It was against human law.
It was against witch law. And as powerful as Grandma had been, she hadn’t done anything to stop it. All she could do was turn her head and go to her grave with that child’s death on her conscience.
“There are seven of us, Cassie,” Glenda said softly. “It doesn’t have to be you. It doesn’t always have to be you.”
But it did, didn’t it? My six sisters were powerful witches, but all specialized. I was the only one who wouldn’t be limited in what I could do. And of them all, I was the only one who had the sort of power to take control of this town. But why did I have to? Why did a stupid accident of birth mean I had to spend my life dealing with werewolves and the issues of the town?
Damn it all. Everyone in my family knew I wasn’t going to just sit back and watch this town get steamrollered by a bunch of fighting werewolves. And everyone knew I wouldn’t brush off werewolf deaths without some sort of intense investigation.
The big question was did I have the power to make law and order, and punishment, stick?
I pushed my chair out from the table. “Guess if I’m going to face down Dallas Dickskin and demand to know where he dumped Clinton’s body, I better get going. You stay here,” I told Lucien as he also got to his feet.
“Not a snowflake’s chance in hell, sweetheart,” he told me. “I’ve been happily sequestered here all night, but I’m not hanging out in your lovely house while you face down a bunch of moon-psychotic werewolves solo.”
I bristled. “I can handle myself.”
I was pretty sure I couldn’t, and having a demon along to ride shotgun and have my back, would make me feel better, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Lucien.
“I know you can, but why should you have all the fun?” He cracked his knuckles. “If you haven’t remembered, I do like to kick some werewolf ass. And as the demon who had a gallon of blood dumped in his hotel room, I’m keen to know who’s trying to frame me for this might-be-murder.”
He had a point. And I did need back-up. Yes, I had six sisters, but showing up with a whole coven of witches in tow wouldn’t get me any cooperation from the werewolves. Of course, showing up with a demon in tow might not either, but I was banking on Dallas not taking Lucien as seriously as he would seven witches on his doorstep.
