By the book, p.25
By the Book, page 25
“And what exactly were you hoping to get all the way down there?” He seemed totally untroubled to be practically naked in front of a stranger. Maybe soaking wet, half-frozen and three-quarters of the way to death, Julien didn’t look very intimidating. Maybe the man felt physically secure with his younger body and thick, powerful-looking thighs.
The tingling on Julien’s scalp where the man had touched him intensified and he dragged an impatient hand through his hair. “I was looking for an outlet to charge my phone.”
“But of course you were. I’ve been known to get on my hands and knees for the sake of an outlet myself. Carry on, Raffles.” The man tilted his head to the side studying Julien in a lazy, knowing sort of way. “Unless you need someone to play Bunny?” It was the sort of over-the-top flirting men did when they were utterly certain it wouldn’t go anywhere. Teasing and unserious with no genuine interest. Meant to fluster and nothing else.
“I said I’m not a thief,” Julien said tightly, suddenly feeling as weary and washed-up as he apparently looked. The crash must be catching up with him. “I’m sorry; it’s been a hell of a long day.” He thrust his hand out, then quickly retreated when the man simply regarded it with a single raised eyebrow. Fair enough. “My name’s Julien. I’m on my way to the ski lodge, but had an accident a little ways up the road. My phone’s dead so I hiked down this way and saw the sign and, well, yes, I let myself in and helped myself to the power. I’m sorry if I surprised you or made you uncomfortable at all.” He could hardly say it with a straight face. The man didn’t look like he knew the meaning of the word discomfort. “Are you a, uh, guest here? Owner?”
“No.” The man smiled sharply. He had a small heart-shaped mouth that gave his whole face a sort of pointy, foxy look. “I’m a thief.” His gaze flickered toward the door with a distinct frown and Julien instinctively did, too, just as a loud banging sounded.
“What’s that?”
“Some cultures call it knocking. You wouldn’t be familiar,” the man murmured, slipping past him with a sway in his hips that did interesting things to the silk.
Julien looked purposefully away and followed him into the lobby just as the man opened the door. On the stoop stood a woman, dripping with blood.
Julien swore and hurried closer. “What the hell!”
The woman took one wide-eyed look at him and sagged forward, forcing Julien to reach out and catch her. Her body felt cold and fragile against his and she let out a long shuddering sob and began murmuring something frantically into his chest. Julien looked over her head for help, but the man in the robe had backed away, expression closed, almost wary, and Julien felt a corresponding prickle of unease. “Are you hurt? What happened?” he asked.
“Sweet Pea,” she cried. “I saw the monster!”
Chapter Two
Of course Eli had expected it all to go tits up sooner or later. He’d just thought two weeks was a bit quick, even for him. Though if one liked to quibble, and Eli liked little else more, it had been two months since he was first offered the job as manager of the Maudit Falls “Retreat.” Some of that time had even been spent productively: reaching out to old rebel pack contacts, hiring medical staff, setting up the cabins with everything they’d need for runaways to recover, start over, move on. Was that all interspersed with licking his own wounds, crashing his ex Oliver Park’s newly wedded bliss, and drinking the happy couple out of house and home? Well, that had been productive work, too, in its way. Two months ago, he’d been in no fit state to help anyone but himself to another glass of wine. This morning he’d been showing his very first hire, Dr. Mutya Capili, where the fuse box was with a fragile, foreign feeling dangerously close to pride. Well, it was a tale as old as time. One moment you’re fiddling with the fuses and the next you’re watching your dreams burn down. Que será, será, so they sing.
Though perhaps Doris would be singing a different tune if she, too, found herself sidelined in her own lobby watching a cop man attempt to interrogate a couple of uninvited guests spouting nonsense about some eight-foot supernatural creature lingering around the roadside like it had picked up part-time work as a crossing guard. Most of the current spouting in question was coming from the woman, Annabelle Dunlop. She’d introduced herself last week, when she’d shown up on his doorstep the first time, significantly less bloody and ostensibly there to welcome him to the neighborhood. Eli doubted that very much. It wasn’t difficult to notice her smile had only warmed when she’d realized the retreat had no interest in poaching the wealthy, outdoorsy clientele of Blue Tail Lodge, her own ski resort over the mountain. Eli had told her they were a sanctuary for people escaping bad situations. A place where those who needed to get away could receive help, catch their breath and figure out what came next. It was even almost the truth—a rarity for Eli.
Please, call me Annabelle was a tall, white woman in her early forties with the sort of powder-soft, crepe-like tanned skin some people got when they only started wearing sunblock at thirty. It hadn’t put much of a crimp in her obvious good looks, though. She knew it, too, from the way she kept shooting searching, sidelong glances at the man Eli had found intriguingly facedown, ass-up under the desk. Less attractive were the tangy streaks of blood dripping down the side of her face, and matting her long, heavy blond hair. “I told you, I saw the car in the ditch and pulled over to see if the driver needed help,” she was saying, holding the ice pack Eli had scrounged up to her head. “But when I got closer, I heard something, behind the trees. I followed the noise—”
“You walked into the woods?” the cop interrupted. Maudit Falls’ very own police chief, David Bucknell, apparently. Also blond, white and in his early forties, Bucknell was a bit shorter than Annabelle, but broad. One of those people determined to counteract height with the width of their shoulders. He had a pleasant, friendly face that was currently twisted in a concerned grimace. “Alone, in the dark, toward an unidentifiable noise?”
“I thought the driver might have—have wandered off the road,” Annabelle stuttered defensively, and sent another glance toward said driver.
Somehow Bucknell’s expression turned even more unimpressed.
“I hadn’t even gone that far when I felt a—a presence. I knew I wasn’t alone.” Annabelle’s voice dropped to barely more than a whisper and the other humans leaned closer to her, tense and waiting. “I called out, but no one answered. The whole forest had gone quiet. I started back toward the road and heard something behind me. I could tell it was moving fast so I began to run. But it was so dark that I kept falling down.” Her voice shook a little and she gestured with the ice pack at the shallow cut on her head. “I hit a branch, but I was too frightened to stop or slow down. I just—just kept running until I got here.”
There was a moment of silence.
“And you never left the road?” Bucknell asked, turning to the wayward driver.
It seemed to take a moment for him to realize the question was for him. “No...? Why would I? I hiked down here to look for somewhere to charge my phone and call in the accident,” he said, sounding confused. Then his eyes widened with genuine surprise as the implication in Bucknell’s words sank in. “Oh! No, I didn’t—I would never—”
“David!” Annabelle interrupted. “Of course it wasn’t him chasing me around the woods. Don’t you know who this is? Julien Doran? The movie star?” she mouthed without subtlety.
Surprised, Eli took a more careful look at the man. Or rather a more careful look at the man’s face, this time. It was hardly a chore. Tall, square jawed and impeccably fit, he was white, in his midforties, perhaps, and had very dark hair that glinted auburn in the low lobby lights. Handsome enough to be a movie star certainly. Charming enough, too, the way he immediately slipped into an obviously well-practiced bashful look and pulled out a few lines like Call me Julien, please and Not a star, just an actor who got lucky once or twice. It was a very different character than the awkward and delightfully easy-to-fluster man he’d been behind the desk.
Eli did sort of recognize him now. One of the many effortlessly attractive faces that had graced the blockbusters twenty years ago, before transitioning to guest roles on poorly lit limited series and festival darlings. Eli had even seen one of his later movies once. Some devastating art house film he’d been dragged to on a date, about a man trying to raise a baby goat in the city. It was all an allegory for the opioid epidemic. Apparently. He hadn’t actually finished the thing. A well-placed hand and a couple of soft squirming sighs had convinced his date they should leave early. Eli didn’t like sad stories.
Doran had changed since then. He had scruff for one thing. More coppery than his head hair, it had even faded to a pale rose in some places, giving the redhead’s take on salt and pepper, whatever that was. Garnet and gold. He looked older, too. Granted it had been over a decade since the goat movie, but there was a new, unmistakable weariness in the tilt of his head, the quiver of his hands, the scent of his skin.
Doran glanced over at Eli suddenly—he’d been studying him too long, even the most unobservant human could have sensed it—and blinked at him curiously. His eyes seemed different in person, too. Big, round and so dark they looked black. Prey eyes, Eli thought absently, biting his lip, and was startled when Doran looked suddenly nervous and ripped his gaze away.
Eli ran a quick hand over his own jaw, nose, ears, scalp. But everything was where he’d left it.
“The skiing,” Doran said, answering some question Eli had missed. “I’m just in town for the skiing, but I had an accident up the mountain. An animal ran into the road and I lost control of the car.”
Bucknell tensed, looking grim. “Dead?”
“No. Or I couldn’t find anything like that, anyway.”
“What kind of animal?”
Doran opened his mouth, hesitated. “I’m not sure,” he said finally, sounding oddly regretful. “Larger than a dog, I think. And fast. Really fast.”
“Sweet Pea!” Annabelle breathed. “Finally, a direct encounter!”
Eli closed his eyes to roll them unnoticed. The absurdity. As if any oft mythologized species that had managed to remain undiscovered for thousands of years by the utmost secrecy would suddenly start flagging down cars. Eli pointedly ignored the irony as he stuck his own metaphorical flag into the fray.
“Mr. Doran, this creature you saw, be it sweet or otherwise, were they injured by the accident?”
“I don’t know,” Doran said seriously. “I thought I hit it. But when I got out, I didn’t see anything. And it looked like—” he paused, glancing at Annabelle beside him who was staring so intently she looked like she was seconds away from whipping out a recorder “—like maybe I was wrong.”
He was clearly hiding something. Eli stepped closer, inhaling, curious, but Bucknell cut in.
“Plenty of large wildlife in the area—coyotes, black bears, deer,” he said thoughtfully. “There’s even been rumors of red wolves around here.”
“I thought red wolves were practically hunted to extinction,” Doran said.
“Not on Blue Tail Mountain.” Bucknell shrugged. “Annie and I grew up in Maudit. I’ve heard the howling myself. Bobcats are out, too, around now.”
Eli inspected his fingernail and sighed, telegraphing the peak of boredom. “Coyotes and bobcats and deer, oh my. The list of potential suspects grows long. Or is it potential victims? I’ve gotten awfully mixed up. What are we investigating again? Hit-and-run? Who stole Mr. McGregor’s carrots?” He looked at the handsome one and smiled sweetly. “B & E?”
Doran’s jaw flexed. “I’m sorry,” he said politely. “I don’t remember catching your name.”
“I don’t remember throwing it,” Eli murmured.
Annabelle laughed a little breathlessly. “Oh, this is Elias Smith. He’s the new manager of the retreat here.”
“I heard the place was bought up a couple months back,” Bucknell said thoughtfully. “First time this land hasn’t had a Nielsen living on it in ninety years. Though I can’t say I’m surprised after what happened last summer. Are the new owners—?”
“Based out of town,” Eli said smoothly. “I’m looking after things here for them.”
Bucknell studied him, assessing, and Eli felt the prickling urge to bare his teeth. As long as he lived, he’d never understand the human urge to stare so shamelessly. He channeled the urge into shifting his weight onto one hip instead, and predictably, Bucknell looked away. “What about you, Mr. Smith? Were you outside this evening?” he asked some spot over Eli’s right shoulder.
“Outside? In the dark? In the woods?” Eli shuddered dramatically. “Thankfully there are plenty of renovations to keep me busy indoors.”
“You were renovating wearing that?”
“Oh, my goodness, no. But I had to put something on to answer the door. There are laws, you know.” Eli winked and Bucknell smiled faintly back, amused and dismissive.
“Well, I’m going to tell park services to add a couple men this way to keep an eye out for a potentially injured and dangerous animal in the area. I recommend letting your guests know the same.”
Eli cursed silently. “We’re not open to guests yet.”
“Your staff, then.” He looked around as if hoping to catch a member of said staff who looked more like his idea of a professional. Good luck to him.
“I didn’t think rangers did that sort of thing—track down animals hit by cars,” Eli said.
“They don’t. But the truth is—” Bucknell frowned and quickly swiped his hand over his face. “There’s been a number of reports of odd animal behavior recently and we want to keep an eye on it.”
“What sort of behavior?” Doran asked.
“Oh, nothing to worry about,” Bucknell said hastily. “People claiming to hear strange noises. Some minor property damage. But we want to make sure there isn’t a sick critter out there. So far all of the incidents have been up by Blue Tail Lodge,” he added, nodding toward Annabelle. “Have you noticed anything...unusual here?”
“Well, I did see Goody Proctor dancing with the devil,” Eli said. “But I don’t think any animals were involved, no.”
“It’s not an animal!” Annabelle erupted. “Animals don’t start fires in the woods. Animals don’t carve sigils into buildings or leave piles of deer bones on your doorstep or paint the windows with blood.”
Eli raised both eyebrows, but Doran beat him to it. “That sounds like, ah, people, doesn’t it?” he asked with the trepidation of one being forced to alert someone to the presence of the nose on their face.
“It’s no person, either,” she said grimly. “And now I’ve got proof.” Annabelle unzipped the puffy black coat she wore and pulled out a plastic box-shaped thing about the size of a large, spread hand. It would have looked like some kind of clunky communicator better suited to a sci-fi movie from the fifties if not for the camouflage design. A wildlife camera. The infrared sort that hunters strapped to trees and took short bursts of images when the motion sensors were tripped.
“When the hell did you pick that up?” Bucknell demanded, sounding exasperated.
Annabelle shook her head impatiently as she turned on the little view screen on the back of the camera and started clicking through photos. “Earlier this evening. I was out tonight collecting them before I saw Mr. Dor—Julien’s car.”
“Them?” Eli asked, feeling cold. “Are any of these cameras on retreat property?”
She flushed and sat up straight on the couch. “No, no, certainly not.”
“Because you know that our guests’ privacy is very important,” Eli added sharply.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Smith. But this was up the road, nowhere near—Oh, here, look at this.” She began to hand the camera to Doran, but Bucknell strode forward and intercepted it. He looked at the screen with a frown, then blew out an exasperated breath.
“Annie, what on earth—”
“No, no, look at this,” she said, tapping on the screen insistently. “Does that look like a human being to you?”
“It doesn’t look a whole hell of a lot like anything,” Bucknell said, handing the camera off. Doran accepted it, looking at the screen with a neutral, politely interested face. Then walked toward Eli and offered it to him.
It took a moment to adjust to the camera’s night vision—the silvery trunks, the stark white branches cutting across the frame like cracks in the glass—but then Eli saw it. In the back of the frame, disappearing behind a cluster of trees, a figure was running, hunched over, one long arm dangling toward the ground, the other reaching forward to disappear along with the head and shoulders behind a tree. Its form was blown out—too light for any useful detail—and the obvious, swift movement blurred its body and legs. The only clear part was the right arm hanging down. Long hand loose. Claws sharp.
It was quite obviously a werewolf. Obvious to Eli, anyway, being a werewolf himself. The others didn’t seem to see it that way. But then there were very few humans in the world who knew werewolves even existed—a scattering of individuals “aware” because of who they loved, some government agencies brought into the loop ostensibly to help keep the secret, the unlucky few who could not be convinced they hadn’t seen what they’d seen. Many of these people had been fed the same PR-packaged lines about how werewolves were just like “you and me.” Average folk who also happened to possess the ability to fully turn into wolves whenever they wished. Like finding out your accountant occasionally put on a corset to go to the Renaissance fair and drink mead. It was of course nonsense. Eli had never felt “just like” any human being, whether he was trying to or not. They were an entirely separate species living among the unaware, with their own cultures, customs, politics and histories. Their own stronger senses, bodies, hierarchies and instincts. Their own goddamn troubles, too, like how in the hell to manage a secret sanctuary for werewolves when fanatical humans are wandering around the woods hunting for monsters with cameras strapped to trees, just to name a random example off the top of his head.
