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"Good point."
"Whatever Dennis saw could have been this Ijiraat, either a humanoid creature or a shape-shifter. And whatever attacked you last night was definitely no bear. The Inuit say these Ijiraat have been here for generations and people have been reporting sightings for a hundred years. But only now does it start killing people? When a pack of mutt thugs rolls into town?"
"Well, I think Lynn was missing that bit of info."
"Dennis must have seen something, and I agree there might actually be something out there. What I'm not buying is that the two--this creature and the killings--are connected. Except that if such a beast exists and this is its traditional territory, it's not going to be too happy about werewolves turning it into a killing ground."
"True. That might also explain why it didn't like us being on its territory last night." I unwrapped my burger and glanced at him. "We need to go back."
CURIOSITY
JUST BECAUSE WE promptly agreed to do something dangerous didn't mean we weren't aware of the danger. Waltzing into those woods hoping to lure the beast would be like strolling down to an African water hole dangling a steak and calling, "Here kitty, kitty."
We had some sense of what we were up against. It was bigger than us, stronger than us and maybe even a better hunter than us. The best way to fight an opponent with fangs and claws is to have your own. Either that, or bring along a really big gun.
To be honest, I couldn't see how a gun would be that much of an advantage. Biting or swiping is a natural extension of fighting. A gun is big and unwieldy, and if you don't get it up in time or don't aim it right or it jams, you're screwed. So I was sticking with what I knew.
But as we drove, I remembered that guy in Pittsburgh handing out cards for his wife and decided a Taser might be perfect for backup when we weren't in wolf form.
Was I totally comfortable buying a weapon? No, but that had less to do with my belief system than with pride. I was a werewolf, damn it. I didn't use weapons. But these days it wasn't all about me. I wanted to live to see my kids grow up. So I bought the Taser. I'll refrain from commenting on the process except to say that the leftist humanitarian in me was appalled, while the warrior in me, heading into battle, was happy that she didn't need to fill out paperwork and wait six weeks for a license.
If we were attacked by the beast from last night, the Taser might not stop it, but it could slow it down enough to even the odds.
AS IT TURNED out, we didn't need a weapon. The forest continued its night symphony the whole time we were Changing, with only the usual cushion of silence around us, meaning we were the only predators within earshot.
I'll admit I didn't mind the excuse to return to these woods, and it wasn't just the new species of birds and animals or the new expanses of land stretching to the horizon. This forest felt different. The moment I'd start to relax, I'd get that prickle at the back of my neck, warning me not to get too comfortable. Things here weren't what I was used to and I couldn't lower my guard.
It was different. And different is good.
WE'D CHANGED BESIDE the road where we'd parked the night before. Then we followed the trail toward Dennis's cabin.
On the way, we found the spot where I'd been attacked. I'd hoped that in wolf form, with my better nose, I might be able to get more clues as to what exactly had ambushed us. But while I could still smell it, the musky odor was so overwhelming it was like trying to pick apart the components of cheap cologne. My nose and brain revolted and could only process the overall stink... and wanted nothing to do with it.
We managed to follow the beast's trail for almost a mile. Then it dipped into a shallow, fast-running stream, as if the creature knew we'd try tracking it. We ran along the sides for another half mile, but we found no sign of where it had exited, and we gave up. As interesting as this mystery was, we had a more pressing agenda tonight.
At Dennis's cabin, I Changed back while Clay stood guard. He'd offered to search instead, to save me the extra Changing. I won't say it's less painful for him--I have no way of judging that--but he's been doing them from the age most kids learn to ride a bike. I've never known him to skip an opportunity because he'd prefer not to go through it.
But I had more searching experience and he had more guarding experience, so we stuck to our roles. The first thing I did was look for any evidence that Dennis had encountered the beast--a photo, a journal, anything. But I found nothing and soon began the real work of the night--figuring out how close Dan's story of Dennis's death was to the reality, while learning all I could about this mysterious younger Stillwell.
Now that I'd encountered both Tesler brothers and Dan, I could pick out their individual scents and re-create that night in the cabin. All three had been here. Travis Tesler's and Podrova's scents blanketed the spot where we'd found Dennis, meaning they both had been actively involved in his torture.
The bystander was Eddie Tesler, who seemed to have planted himself in a chair across the cabin and sta
yed there. That might suggest he disagreed with the torture, but beside the chair were a puzzle book and a pen, both reeking of Eddie's scent. He'd used the time to do a couple of word-search puzzles instead.
I found evidence of another bystander. The chair beside Eddie's smelled of werewolf, too, and was spattered with drops of blood from the younger Stillwell, whose jacket Dan had been wearing.
I followed the trails outside. Three werewolves had arrived--the Tesler brothers and Dan. Four had left, including young Stillwell. So Eddie hadn't just been chilling out during the torture--he'd been guarding a hostage. Maybe this was why Joey pretended not to know who this younger relative was, and why he was so anxious for us to leave the mutts alone and go home.
I searched the cabin, looking for more signs of the young man. I found them in Dennis's dresser. The top drawer was stuffed with clothes that didn't belong to him. Most had been washed, but a few still bore the younger man's scent. Further investigation turned up a toothbrush, a stack of comic books and a handheld game, all permeated with his smell. The game player had been etched with a name: Noah Albright. A few of the comics bore the same initials.
As I hunted, a story formed. Noah was Dennis's late-in-life son, left with his mother until he reached puberty. Then Dennis had made contact, explaining the situation to the young man and guiding him through his early Changes, which from his smell hadn't been more than a year ago. The kid stayed with his mom but still spent time with his father, here at the cabin. Then, on one of those visits, the mutts had shown up.
Was that why Dennis was killed? The new pack came calling, his teenage son was here and the normally passive Dennis fought to defend him?
So where was the kid? Was he still alive? I hoped so, and I was sure Joey believed it--or was being led to believe it. But honestly? I doubted it.
I CHANGED BACK for the return trip. The evening was still quiet, but not unnaturally so. There'd been no sign of the beast. No sign of the werewolves. No sign of the wolves.
