2 Blood Trail (31 page)

“Jennifer.” She giggled and tossed her mane of russet hair back off her face. “I’m the prettier one.”

“Pardon me.” Celluci smiled down at her. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

She giggled again and fled.

Still smiling, he picked up the old black receiver—probably the original phone from when the line had been put in thirty years before. “Celluci.”

Vicki, who’d learned her phone manners in the same school, had no problem with the lack of pleasantries. She seldom used them herself. “I just found out that Bertie Reid won’t be in until five at the earliest.”

“You going to wait?”

“I don’t see as I have an option.”

“Shall I come in?”

“No point, really. Stay around the farm so I can reach you and try to keep the we . . . Heerkens from going out to those south fields.”

“Should be safe enough in the daytime.”

“I don’t care. No one else gets shot if I have to leash the lot of them.”

She hung up without asking about Henry. Celluci found that a little surprising, as though she’d known he wouldn’t be around. Of course, she could just be showing more tact than usual, but he doubted it.

Mulling over possibilities, he returned to the yard and Nadine. “It looks like I’ll be staying around for a while, the woman Vicki needs to speak with is going to be late.”

“No problem.” Which wasn’t the exact truth, but in Nadine’s opinion, Stuart needed to work on tolerating non-wer dominants. This Toronto detective would be good practice for the next time Stuart had to go into the co-op; the last time had almost been a disaster. It was getting hard enough to keep their existence a secret without Stuart wanting to challenge every alpha male he met. And while she recognized her mate’s difficulty in accepting outsiders as protectors of the pack, it was done and he was just going to have to learn to live with it.
Or we all die without it. Like Silver.
She passed Celluci a handful of clothespins. “Put these in that basket, please.”

Frowning a little at her sudden sadness, Celluci complied, wondering if he should say something. And if so, what?

“Mom?” The perfect picture of six-year-old dejection, Daniel dragged himself around the corner of the house and collapsed against the step. “I wanna go to the pond, but there’s no one to take me. Daddy’s got his head stuck in a tractor and he says Peter and Rose gotta fix that fence up by the road and Uncle Donald’s sick and Colin’s gone to work and Jennifer and Marie are taking care of Uncle Donald . . .” He let his voice trail off and sighed deeply. “I was wondering. . . ?”

“Not right now, sweetie.” She reached down and stroked his hair back out of his eyes. “Maybe later.”

Daniel’s ebony brows drew down. “But I wanna go now. I’m hot.”

“I can take him.” Celluci spread his hands as Nadine turned to look at him. “I don’t have anything else to do.” Which was true as far as it went. It had also occurred to him that children, of any species, often knew more than adults suspected. If Fitzroy was an old family friend then Daniel might be able to fill in some of those irritating blanks.

“Can you swim?” Nadine asked at last.

“Like a fish.”

“Please,
Mom.”

She weighed her child’s comfort against her child’s safety with this virtual stranger. In all fairness, last night couldn’t be weighed against him. Males were not accountable for their actions when their blood was up.

“Mommy!”

And the challenge had, essentially, given him a position of sorts within the pack. “All right.”

Daniel threw his arms around her legs with what came very close to a bark of joy, and bounded away, throwing an excited, “Come on!” back over his shoulder at Celluci, who followed at a more sedate pace.

“Hey!”

He turned, barely managing to snag the towel before it hit him in the face.

Nadine grinned, tongue protruding just a little from between very white teeth. “You’ll probably need that. And don’t let him eat any frogs. He’ll spoil his dinner.”

 

“I dunno. He’s been coming for my whole life.”

Translation; three or four years. “Does he come very often?”

“Sure. Lots of times.”

“Do you like him?”

Daniel turned around and walked backward down the path, peering up at Celluci through a wild shock of dusty black hair. “Course I do. Henry brings me stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Action figures. You know, like superheros and stuff.” He frowned. “They chew up awful easy though.” A bare heel slammed into a hummock of grass and, arms windmilling, he sat down. He growled at the offending obstacle then, having warned it against further attempts to trip him, accepted Celluci’s offered hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure.” He ran a little bit ahead then came back, just to prove he was all right. “I’ve fallen farther than that.”

Celluci slapped at a mosquito. “Is the pond far?” He pulled the squashed insect out of the hair of his arm and wiped the mess on his jeans.

“Nope.” Three jumps proved that an overhanging branch was still too high and he moved on.

“Is it part of the farm?”

“Uh-huh. Grandpa had it dugged a gizillion years ago. When Mommy was little,” he added, just in case Celluci had no idea how long a gizillion years was.

“Does Henry take you swimming?”

“Nah. I’m not allowed to swim at night ’less everybody’s there.”

“Isn’t Henry ever here in the daytime?”

Daniel sighed and stared up at Celluci like he was some kind of idiot. “Course he is. It’s daytime now.”

“But he’s asleep.”

“Yeah.” A butterfly distracted him and he bounded off after it until it flew high up into one of the poplars bordering the path and stayed there.

“Why doesn’t he ever take you swimming in the daytime.”

“Cause he’s asleep.”

“Just when you want to go swimming?”

Daniel wrinkled his nose and looked up from the bug he was investigating. “No.”

The security guard at Fitzroy’s building had already told Celluci that Henry Fitzroy seemed to live his life at night. Working nights and sleeping days wasn’t that unusual but added to all the other bits and pieces—or to the lack of bits and pieces—it certainly didn’t help allay suspicion. “Does Henry ever bring anyone with him?”

“Course. Brought Vicki.”

“Anyone else?”

“Nope.”

“Do you know what Henry does when he’s at home?”

Daniel knew he wasn’t supposed to tell that Henry was a vampire, just as he wasn’t to tell about his family being werewolves. It was one of the earliest lessons he’d been taught. But the policeman knew about the fur-forms and he was a friend of Vicki’s and she knew about Henry. So maybe he did, too. Daniel decided to play it safe. “I’m not supposed to tell.”

That sounded promising. “Not supposed to tell what?”

Daniel scowled. This grown-up was real dull, all he wanted to do was talk and that meant no fur-form. Vicki had been lots more fun; she’d thrown sticks for him to chase. “You mad at Henry ’cause he’s with your mate?”

“She’s not my mate,” Celluci snapped, before he considered the wisdom of answering the question at all.

“You smell like she is.” His brow furrowed. “She doesn’t though.”

He had to ask. “And what does she smell like?”

“Herself.”

This is not the type of conversation to have with a six-year-old,
Celluci reminded himself as the path opened out into a small meadow, the pond shimmering blue-green in a hollow at the far end.

“Oh, boy! Ducks! ”Daniel tore out of his shorts and raced across the field, barking shrilly, tail thrashing from side to side. The half dozen ducks waited until he was almost at the pond before taking wing. He plunged in after them, splashing and barking until they were out of sight behind the trees then sat down in the shallows, had a quick drink, and looked back, panting, to see if his companion had witnessed his routing of the enemy.

Celluci laughed and scooped up the discarded shorts. “Well done!” he called. He’d felt a superstitious prickling up his spine when the boy had first changed, but it hadn’t been able to maintain itself against the rest of the scene. Crossing the meadow, he decided to leave Henry for the rest of the afternoon and just enjoy himself.

“Is it deep?” he asked, arriving at the pond.

“ ’Bout as deep as you near the middle,” Daniel told him after a moment’s study.

Over six feet was pretty deep for such a little guy. “Can you swim.”

Daniel licked a drip of water off his nose. “Course I can,” he declared indignantly. “I can dog paddle.”

 

“Think we’ll get this done by supper time?” Rose asked, scrubbing a dribble of sweat off her forehead.

“I didn’t think Uncle Stuart gave us an option,” Peter panted, leaning on the mallet. “He’s sure been growly lately.”

“In case you’d forgotten, the family’s under attack. He has a good reason.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean he has to growl at me.”

Rose only shrugged and started stomping the earth tightly around the base of the metal fence post. She hated the amount of clothing she had to wear for this—shoes, jeans, shirt—but fences couldn’t be fixed in a sundress, especially not when every section seemed determined to support at least one raspberry bush.

“I mean,” Peter clipped an eight-inch length of wire off the bale and began reattaching the lower part of the fence to the post, “everything you do, he snaps at you.”

Everything you do, you mean
. Rose sighed and kept her mouth shut. She’d been feeling so strange herself lately, she certainly wasn’t going to criticize her twin.

He squinted up at the sun, burning yellow-white in the late afternoon sky, and fought the urge to pant. “What a day to be working outside. I don’t believe how hot it is.”

“At least you can work without a shirt on.”

“So could you.”

“Not right next to the road.”

“Why not?” He grinned. “There’s never any traffic along here and besides, they’re so little no one’ll be able to see them anyway.”

“Peter!”

“Peter!” he echoed, as she took a swing at him. “Okay, if you don’t like that idea, why don’t you trot back to the house and get us some water.”

Rose snorted. “Right. While you lean on the fence and watch the world go by.”

“No.” He bent and picked up the brush shears. “While I clear the crap from around the next post.”

She looked from the post to her brother, then turned and started walking back to the house. “You better have that done . . .” she warned, over her shoulder.

“Or what?”

“Or . . . Or I’ll bite your tail off!” She laughed as Peter cowered at their favorite childhood threat, and then she broke into a run, feeling his gaze on her back until she left the field and started down the lane.

Peter yanked at the waistband of his jeans. They were too tight, too constrictive, too hot. He wanted . . . Actually, he didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

“This has been one hell of a summer,” he muttered, moving along the fence. He missed his Aunt Sylvia and his Uncle Jason. With the two older wer gone, it seemed like he and Rose had no choice but to become adults in their place.

He suddenly wanted to howl but worked off some of his frustrations in hacking at the brush instead. Maybe he should get a life outside the pack, like Colin had. He tossed that idea almost the instant he had it. Colin didn’t have a twin and Peter couldn’t imagine living without Rose beside him. They almost hadn’t made it through grade eleven when class schedules kept them apart for most of the day. The guidance counselor had no idea how close she’d come to being bitten when she refused to change things. She’d said it was time they broke free of an unhealthy emotional dependency. Peter beheaded a few daisies, working the shears like two-handed scissors.
That’s all she knew. Maybe if humans developed a little emotional dependency the world wouldn’t be so fucked up.

The sound of an approaching car brought him over to the fence where he could get a look at the driver. The black and gold jeep slowed as it drew even with him, stopped a few feet down the road, then backed up spraying gravel. It was the same jeep that had been parked at the end of the lane Sunday morning when he’d gone to the mailbox to fetch Shadow. Hackles rising, he put down the shears and jumped the fence. Time to find out why this guy was hanging around.

 

Mark Williams couldn’t believe his luck. Not only was there a solitary werewolf right up by the road where he could get to it, but it was one of the recheads. One of the young redheads. And in his experience, teenage anythings could be easily manipulated into impulsive, reckless behavior.

Even in jeans and running shoes, the creature had a certain wolflike grace, and as Mark watched it jump the fence and start toward the car he became convinced that this was the other version of the animal he’d seen by the mailbox yesterday. The set of its head, the expression of wary curiosity, was, given the variation in form, identical.

He rolled down the window, having already determined how to take advantage of this chance meeting. He’d always believed he did his best work off the cuff.

“You one of the Heerkens?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“You may have noticed me around a bit lately.”

“Yeah.”

Mark recognized the stance. The creature wanted to be a hero.
Well, keep your pants on, you’ll get your chance
. “I’ve, uh, had my eye on your little problem.”

“What problem’s that?”

He pointed his finger and said, “Bang. Hear you lost two members of your family this month. I have, uh . . .” The sudden noise startled him, especially when he realized what it was. The creature was growling, the sound beginning deep in its throat and emerging clearly as threat. Mark pulled his arm into the car and kept one finger on the window control. No point taking unnecessary chances. “I have information that might help you catch the person responsible. Are you interested?”