Page 13 of Minions and Magic
“No wolf is gonna put coyote piss on himself,” Stanley told me. “It was Drakkar.”
I was so confused. “Drakar? Isn’t that Swedish for dragon? You make yourselves smell like dragons?”
Bart chuckled. “Nowthatwould be funny. Can you imagine showing up to a hunt smelling like a dragon? Half the pack would piss themselves running away.”
Stanley waved a hand at his friend. “That’s not what I mean. Drakkar. The men’s cologne. Caught a faint scent of werewolf, and I’m surprised I managed that. The guy had enough Drakkar on him to ruin my sense of smell for an hour. Well, for an hour if I hadn’t had a car dropped on top of me.”
This was something I’d never known about werewolves. “You all do this? I mean, does every werewolf have a bottle of Drakkar in his house just in case he wants to drop a car on someone and not be recognized by scent?”
“Nah. Mostly we use it when we’re dogging some other wolf’s lady, or stealing a chicken.” Bart grinned. “Females used to use Opium, but sometimes they use Drakkar too if they want a werewolf to think a male is stealing his chickens.”
“So you’re not sure this was a male werewolf?” I asked. “It could have been a female with paint-stained boots wearing a bottle of Drakkar?”
Stanley shrugged. “Might have been. I thought it was male, but didn’t get enough of the werewolf scent to tell and females are just as physically strong as males.”
I frowned, thinking of something else. “Someone in the pack has to know who this was. I can’t imagine a werewolf coming home reeking of cologne and no one noticing it. Heck, that much Drakkar and I’ll bet the entire compound smelled him or her coming from a mile away.”
“That’s if he or she went home,” Bart pointed out. “Lots of us go out for a hunt and don’t come back ‘til morning. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing right now.”
I eyed him in disbelief. “And the scent would wear off in that time?”
“Shower a couple times. Swim in the swamp. Roll in mud. Kill a deer and wear it’s skin around for a few hours.” Stanley nodded knowingly. “There’s lots of ways to get the scent off. Plus if you shift a few times, it helps it wear off fast.”
Crap. Still, this information was better than nothing at all. I wasn’t a detective, but Sheriff Oakes and Cassie could certainly get to the bottom of this. Maybe someone at the compound had heard another werewolf spouting off about Stanley. And it couldn’t be too difficult to figure out which werewolves were out “hunting” on the night in question.
“Thanks guys.” I shook Bart’s hand and patted Stanley on the shoulder. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning with another smoothie for you. Just to make sure you can get through the work day without collapsing. Let Petunia know you might need a light work day or two. He’s discreet, and he can come up with an excuse to let you take a long lunch and get off work early if you need.”
Stanley smiled. I let Bart escort me the twenty feet to the door and cast a careful eye around as I walked to my car. The night seemed peaceful with cicadas singing in the moonless night, but I couldn’t help but feel a shiver run up my spine as I unlocked my car and climbed inside.
It felt like someone was nearby, like someone was watching.
Chapter 8
Glenda
Iwas up with the sun, once again relaxing on my back porch this time with a giant mug of coffee and a thick slab of buttered sourdough toast. My next door neighbor was also an early riser this morning and he saluted me with his own cup of coffee, the faint light of the sunrise reflecting in his fiery eyes.
“Morning, Kane,” I called out. “Come join me. I’ve got a warm loaf of sourdough and a pot of fresh ground, fair trade Ethiopian.”
He hesitated, then shook his head with a reluctant smile. “I’ve got to head up north to drop off a commission and a few pieces at the gallery. Next time?”
“Of course. Be safe.”
The ifrit was always safe. Anyone catching sight of his unusual eyes thought they were some weird techno contacts the artist wore as part of his edgy, punk image. Kane used to need an intermediary to deliver his artwork to the human world, but the last decade he’d been more comfortable venturing out on his own. Emboldened by the non-threatening reaction to his appearance, he’d even taken to attending gallery events and as a result, demand was increasing for his art.
Who knew burned wood sculpture could be so lucrative?
I sat alone on my porch, watching as the sun fully emerged over the horizon, hearing the town come to life as people started about their day. Kane loaded artwork into his bright red SUV and waved as he drove off. I finished my coffee and the last bite of my toast and headed inside, feeling oddly empty. I had plenty to do today. I’d stayed up late last night making potions that might be useful if there were injuries at the werewolf barbeque, but the rest of this week would be devoted to non-magical preparations.
First though, I needed to go visit Stanley.
Putting a Thermos of healing smoothie into my giant purse, I headed out. The werewolf was just about to leave for work when I arrived. Bart’s car was no longer in the driveway.
“He left before sunrise,” Stanley said, noting my expression. “Trust me, I had to practically fight him to get him to go. I didn’t want anyone at the compound suspecting he’d been here with me. Bart likes being part of the pack. I’d feel horrible if he got kicked out on my behalf. Besides, I’m fine. Whoever attacked me probably figures I’m either dead or in the hospital.”
I handed him the Thermos and hid a smile at his grimace. “Drink. Go to work. Make sure you tell Petunia you might need an extra break or two.”
He took the Thermos and hesitated. With a stern look from me, he unscrewed the cap and drank it down.
