Page 86 of Bayou Blues (Genie McQueen 1)

Two weeks had passed since the dramatic events at the Church of Morning left two people dead and the whole world stunned by the horrors committed by Timothy Deerling. His name was synonymous with other murderous cult leaders, with doomsday preppers and serial killers. He was the fodder for late-night monologue jokes, and had spawned the hashtag #deerlinghunter on Twitter where people went on at great lengths about either how crazy he was or how right he’d been.

I’d had to delete my Twitter account. And Facebook. Part of it was for my own sanity and to maintain some anonymity now that I was a true Alpha.

Press had called me day and night, and I’d missed most of it out in the boonies, thankfully. I didn’t even listen to the messages before changing my number. I went through my mail, scanning the contents. Half the letters were requests for interviews. Some were fan mail, though I had no idea how anyone knew where I lived. A couple were written in insane scrawl, telling me they would come for me to finish Timothy’s vision.

Super.

I’d thought being the poster child for my pack had been taxing. It was nothing compared to the scrutiny I was under now for exposing the whole world to what had happened in Franklinton. Some people loved me for it, praised me as a hero. Others thought it would have been better if I’d died.

We’d have to agree to disagree on that point.

A video had leaked onto YouTube showing Timothy killing Carmel. It caught everything, from them dragging a wild, rage-filled Hank in after they’d tased him and locking him in a cage, then Timothy killed Carmel. He shredded her with the array of werewolf and regular wolf paraphernalia available to him in the basement, while Hank was made to watch.

The charges against Hank were all dropped, but it was going to be a long time before he bounced back from this. Apparently they’d used one of the church girls as bait and got him at a bar, slipping him a horse tranquilizer to knock him out.

We knew humans could get to us now.

Once I was unpacked and had thrown out the offending mail, I drifted from room to room, trying to remember how I used to live here. I spent twenty minutes dusting and cleaning the already clean fridge. I stopped short of cleaning the oven.

I didn’t know how to be this version of myself anymore. This was the Genie who’d considered pledging a sorority. This was the girl who’d wanted to play at a human life by running away from her werewolf family.

I didn’t want to go into hiding. But could I be both a pack leader and a student? I’d missed my Tulane exams, but for obvious reasons they had allowed me to reschedule. I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to take them anymore. Where did my school life fit in the plan I was now a part of? Did I need a degree to be queen, or was it another unwelcome distraction in my life?

Anxious about how quiet the house was, I made my way to the living room and turned on my TV. CNN greeted me with the headline EXCLUSIVE, First Interview with Deerling’s Secret Family.

Good Lord.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and adjusted the volume. I liked to keep sound low these days. I tended to hear phantom noises, thinking I was being watched or followed. Call me paranoid, but I was starting to believe I might want to take my safety seriously.

Plus, killing Deerling hadn’t stopped me from being haunted. I’d seen the burning woman twice in the woods outside Callum’s house while I was there. I didn’t chase her again, but whenever she appeared, I thought about my dream mother’s words.

You’re a killer, just like your father.

I shook off that awful thought and focused on the TV. The beautiful redheaded woman I’d seen at Deerling’s compound was seated in the center of a large U-shaped sofa, her six children divided around her. The little girl I had met briefly was snuggled up to her mother’s side holding a new, pristine teddy bear. She sucked her thumb and gave the interviewer a dead-eyed stare.

That kid still freaked me out.

I’d missed the beginning of the interview because they were already past introductions, and a variety of quotes were scrolling along the bottom of the screen. Behind the family were photos of what I assumed to be the interior of the house I’d seen them in. Dirty mattresses lined the floor, wedged together in small rooms with the windows blacked out.

“According to his pre-death confession, Timothy Deerling suggested you were responsible for turning him into a werewolf,” the reporter said. “Is that true?”

The woman, her name splashed across the screen as Bonnie-Jean Talbot, nodded solemnly. “You need to understand, it wasn’t malicious or intentional. It was an accident.”

They talked around the topic, likely because of the children, but I could see the flush of embarrassment in her cheeks. She’d bitten him during sex. I don’t know if she expected to draw blood. Maybe it was too close to the full moon. It didn’t matter; one bite was all it took.

An expert on supernaturally transmitted diseases (“The new STDs!”) came on to explain the lycanthropy gene, and though I was grateful they got the science right, it still made me mad they were placating their audience. Don’t worry, it’s very rare.

Timothy’s wife, Shannon, hadn’t given any interviews, but people were speculating wildly online about her child becoming a werewolf. It was possible, but unlikely. Shannon would need to have the same gene. It wouldn’t be long before a test was developed so people could figure out if they carried the gene. God help us.

Bonnie-Jean talked about Timothy before his change, as the sweet man she’d dated in college. But after her bite passed along the infection, he went crazy when he realized what she was and what she’d made him. “He wasn’t always like that. He didn’t know about werewolves until me, but once he started to show signs, I figured out what had happened. I wanted to help him. It’s not easy for those who turn as adults. In our culture you make the decision to become a wolf at an early age. Those turned by accident don’t get to adjust the same.” She sighed, stroking the orange hair of a boy on her left. He’d probably be old enough for the Awakening soon. I wondered what he’d decide. “He reacted like I’d signed his death warrant. He locked me up and wouldn’t let me leave. But he just kept coming back, saying I was in co

ntrol of him, saying everything was my fault. He’d force me to…”

She looked at her children and her expression was so haunted it broke my heart. “He…punished me. Constantly. He said if we ever left him, he would kill us, and to prove it he would bring women back. Other wolves like me. He’d let me meet them before he killed them.” She started to cry, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “We tried to get out once and he stopped us. He made us move with him. He said if we ever tried to get help, he’d kill the kids first. He told me he would prove how devoted he was to God by using his own children as sacrifices. That God would wash him clean of the impurity if he spilled enough blood.” She was crying so hard the interviewer looked like she might call for a commercial cut. Bonnie-Jean was ignoring the tissue being held out for her.

“What do you have to say to the woman who exposed him, if she’s out there?”

I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if CNN somehow knew I was tuning in.

---