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Chapter 31
"You're sure it was Balthazar?" Grace asked. I'd hurried home, leaving the flaming corpse where it had fallen. I could have called Grace from the car and waited for her to join me, but the idea of sitting on that dark lonely road with Lord only knew what watching me from the woods was too much.
"Believe me, Grace, I've seen the man often enough to recognize his eyes, even in the face of a wolf. "
"Well, that's one less missing person. " I could hear her getting into the squad car. "And one less headache for you. "
"Hey!" I protested. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone. "
"I know. But I still find it strange that the dead and undead are all on your shit list. "
"Not all. I never met Ryan Freestone. "
"Good point. So we're down to two werewolves at least. Unless. . . " She trailed off. I could hear the distant hum of her tires against the pavement.
"Unless?"
"Unless Balthazar was the original werewolf. He was awfully hairy and a huge pain in the behind. "
"You think that might be true?"
"It would certainly make things tidier. " She sighed. "So probably not. Life is never that easy. "
I heard her stop; a car door opened; then footsteps crunched on gravel. "I'm shining a big spotlight right where you said. Nothing on fire, but. . . " Crunch. Crunch. "A few ashes. Ground's scuffed. Someone was here. "
"Obviously, Grace. I didn't shoot him. "
"I'm going to pull my car off the road. Try to track this guy. I'll call you later. "
"Hold on. Whoever shot Balthazar could be as nutty as. . . well, someone who's nuts. "
"Seems pretty sane to me. Shoot werewolf with silver. Kaboom. I wish I'd done it. "
"Be careful. If he's on the up-and-up, why didn't he stick around for the band, the parade, the salutations?"
"Got me. Now stay inside, and if you hear or see anything hinky, call nine-one-one. "
"So one of your officers can become wolf bait?" I asked, but she was already gone.
I'd run home because it felt safer than the car, especially now that my windshield was history. But standing in my kitchen, staring at the sliding glass, I didn't feel so safe anymore.
But where could I go? I didn't think there was any place, anywhere, that was going to be safe from what was out there.
I checked all the doors, all the windows - not that a lock would help, but it wouldn't hurt. Then I got to work.
On the Internet I found all sorts of strange things. As Grace had said, there were shape-shifter legends all over the place. Shamans told of transforming into their spirit animals. Some carried talismans that contained the essence of their other nature. I wished, not for the first time, that I hadn't lost that rune.
Even the Cherokee had a transformation legend, although theirs involved a panther. The Ojibwe told tales of the Weendigo, a werewolf cannibal, and witchie wolves, invisible wolves that guarded the resting places of warriors.
The Navajo believed in skinwalkers, both witch and werewolf, who donned the skin of an animal and became one.
In Haiti they shared the legend of the lougaro, a shape-shifting sorcerer who traveled through the night drinking the blood of children. They also told tales of the Egbo, a leopard society from deepest Africa, which was used to keep the slaves in line by actually turning into leopards on occasion.
When I searched for incidents of miraculous healing, I got a lot of religious Web sites. Made sense.
There was also one site of conspiracy theories where incidents of miraculous healing were proof of aliens, Satan, and complicated government plots.
When I searched for sightings of wolves where wolves weren't supposed to be, I found a Web page on exotic pets. Their theory was that people who had raised wolves from infancy had dumped them when they became too difficult to control.
