Page 78 of Bayou Blues (Genie McQueen 1)

“Do I look like I would touch a filthy were-bitch?” he snapped. He lunged at me like he might rip the pelt out of my hands, but Wilder pulled me back, out of Deerling’s reach. I held tight to the fur. “Your kind isn’t worth the wood it would take to burn you. That’s what they did in the Middle Ages, you know? They burned witches and freaks. Cleaned the earth of scum like you.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Cleansing the world? Making it pure?”

“If I could rub the stain of your sin from the face of history, I would.”

Not quite. It was close, it was an acknowledgment, but it wasn’t a confession. I felt sick to my stomach subjecting myself, and anyone listening, to this hate speech. But it needed to be out there.

“You know the funny thing about the burnings you’re talking about? A lot of innocent people died, mistaken for something they weren’t.”

“Sacrifices are made in any war.”

“Tim…” The sheriff had his hand on his gun, but it remained in the holster for now. “I think I should take them in, and we can call it a night, okay?”

Deerling wasn’t listening. “Wherever there is victory there is death.”

“I bet that’s what you told the human girl who died here. You probably said her death would be noble, that she would be carried off to heaven because she was doing righteous work.” I thought of the artifacts in the basement, all the nails and teeth. “You knew just what to do to her to make it look like one of us too.”

“I know what you monsters are capable of. And soon the world will see you for the killers you really are.”

No no no. He was still so intent on projecting his own blame on to us, I was starting to think he might believe he was innocent. If he thought werewolves were nothing but animals, he probably didn’t see the torture and murder of one as a crime.

Getting him to admit to killing his human parishioner should have been easier. He had to understand the difference.

“What was her name?” I asked.

“Animals don’t have names. Even domesticated ones.”

I bristled. Wilder squeezed the back of my neck, and the gesture was as much a sign of comfort as it was a reminder he could hold me back if I tried anything stupid.

“I meant the girl who died. The human girl.”

This gave Deerling pause, and the sheriff saw his moment to take control. “All right, that’s enough of this nonse

nse. You two are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used—”

“Carmel.”

The sheriff, mid-Mirandizing, said, “For fuck’s sake, Tim.”

Oh, he definitely knew what had really happened. “I bet you both knew her. I bet you saw Carmel at barbeques and picnics and whatever bullshit community-building stuff your town did before it lost its soul to this psycho. Then she was just a sacrifice to be made.”

“True believers—”

“Shut up,” the sheriff snapped at Deerling. “Can’t you see what she’s doing? No one talks this much unless they’re trying to trip you up. Don’t be an idiot. Just shut up.” He pointed his gun at me.

“You going to shoot me, Sheriff? I thought gutting were-girls was how you people liked to do things.” I’d brought the hunting knife I’d taken from Anderson with me, but I wasn’t stupid enough to flash a blade when a guy was pointing a gun at me. In spite of all evidence to the contrary, I didn’t have a death wish.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “How fucked up are you that you’re okay with what he’s done? If you want to pretend werewolves aren’t people, that’s…well that’s shitty, but whatever. But he killed Carmel. I can tell you exactly how he did it, since you were too busy arresting us to see the real show. From what I can tell, he probably used his knowledge of werewolves to meticulously dismember her the way he thought a werewolf would. And you let it happen. A human died on your watch because you’re too much of a useless coward to see this guy for what he really is.”

“Genie.” Wilder’s grip tightened.

The sheriff had adjusted his gun hand, no longer using safe trigger discipline. His finger was on the trigger, one sneeze away from putting one in my chest.

I bit my lip and considered whether or not I was willing to risk saying anything else. If he shot me for talking, the world would see. I’d have a bullet in me, though. And a shot to the heart would kill me.

“You don’t want to shoot me, Sheriff. Deerling likes to play with the dogs before he kills them. Isn’t that right, Tim?”

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