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The house was old, weathered and wind-worn. The paint peeled from the sides, chips as big as my hand missing. The windows opened in, and screens had been nailed over them rather than properly set into place. The front door was located up yet another steep set of stone steps--I counted fourteen of them. An ironwork rail guarded both sides, and I was cautious not to touch it as we climbed the narrow stairs to the landing. The last thing I needed was a nasty burn.
I paused, then pressed the doorbel . We could hear the chimes sounding from within. After a moment with no answer, I pressed the bel again, and pounded on the door. Nada.
Glancing at Menol y, I pul ed out my pack of lockpicks. Very few people knew I owned them, but they came in handy, and after being locked in a room by a harpy while a shop-keeper got kil ed, I'd quietly reassured myself I'd never be stuck in a room again. At least not one with easy-open locks. A moment later, I heard a faint click. I turned the knob, and the door swung ajar.
Quietly, I pushed the door open and sidled in, listening for any sound, looking for any movement. But the house felt cold and empty. I motioned for Menol y and Vanzir to fol ow me. Menol y shut the door behind her.
The hal way was tiled, but the tiles were worn, as was the paint on the wal s. This place was badly in need of fixing up. I edged forward, motioning for them to be quiet. A peek into the darkened living room showed that it was as empty as it seemed.
Vanzir tapped me on the arm and, in the lowest of whispers, said, "Maybe he's asleep?"
I shook my head. "I don't think so. Menol y, why don't you head upstairs and check it out--you're quieter than both of us combined."
As she slipped past me, silent and moving like a shadow, I found myself hoping that Doug Smith would be in his bedroom. Best scenario: He'd wake up and freak out that we were in his house. I'd rather face that than think about potential alternatives.
I motioned to Vanzir. "Quietly--very quietly--check out the living room. I'm heading through there." I nodded to an opening that led into what looked like a large kitchen-dining area. The wal s had a stucco texture, and from the decor, I'd say that the house was stuck back in the sixties or perhaps the early seventies.
As I crossed into what was, indeed, the kitchen, I scanned the room. Nobody there. In the dim light filtering in from the backyard where a floodlight shone over the al ey, I could see a stack of dirty dishes in the sink, encrusted with dried food. Flies buzzed around the plates.
Curious, I glanced in the fridge. Several open containers on the shelves proved what I thought I'd find. It was impossible to tel what the food had been; a flourishing colony of mold covered the tops of whatever the leftovers had been. A cantaloupe rested on one shelf, fal ing apart. I shut the door. Menol y wasn't going to find anybody upstairs. That much I knew. Wherever he was, Doug Smith hadn't been home in quite awhile.
Vanzir poked his head through the archway. "Nothing. Menol y's checking out the basement. I think I found the site of a scuffle, but it's hard to tel without turning on the lights."
"Hold on til she gets back. I don't think she's going to find anybody or anything down there." I spotted a rol of paper towels and tore one off, wiping my hands on it. Even touching the dishes in the sink had left me feeling dirty.
Just then, Menol y returned. "Nobody in the house."
"Thanks." I flipped on the light, flooding the room. The kitchen looked worse than I imagined, pots and pans and dishes fil ing the sink and drain board.
A cutting board with a rotten tomato and stinking meat sat on the counter. It looked like someone had been in the middle of fixing dinner when they were suddenly interrupted.
"Go find the light for the living room," I told Vanzir.
We fol owed him in and, as a dim lamp il uminated the room, I saw what he'd been talking about. A desk sat in the corner, a rundown sofa faced a television, and a bookshelf, overflowing with books, rested against one of the wal s. But the room was tidy, if a little threadbare. Except for a spot near the desk. One of the drawers had been yanked out and was upended on the floor, its contents spil ing across the rug. A lamp had been knocked over, its bulb broken. And one corner of the desk was clear--with papers scattered around the floor.
I knelt near the mess. Brown spots spattered the beige rug. "Menol y, take a look at this. Ink or . . ."
She squatted beside me and leaned down, inhaling deeply. Her nostrils flared. "Blood. Those are drops of blood."
"Crap." As we looked farther, we found more of the splatters. "I guess we should cal in Chase. This doesn't look good."
"He's going to want to know why we're in the house. Like it or not, we're breaking and entering," Vanzir said. "But . . . I guess we could say we were just worried. Checking up on the guy for a friend. Which is ultimately true. If Nerissa's friend is worried about him . . ."
"Yeah. We may have committed B and E, but that doesn't matter. Whatever happened here . . . so not good. I wonder if there are traces of Wolf Briar around. I can't smel anything. Whatever happened took place a while ago." I stood up and pul ed out my cel phone. The FH-CSI headquarters was fourth on speed dial, right after Camil e, Menol y, and home.
Chase answered. "Johnson here. What's up?"
"Delilah. We've got a problem, Chase. Besides Amber, we've got at least one other--potential y three more--missing werewolves. And we know this one didn't go without a fight. We found blood on the carpet." I gave him the address and then turned to Vanzir. "Dude, can you go out and bring in the mail?
There might be some clue in there."
He nodded, then sprang out of the house.
Menol y shook her head. "So, two down, one to go. Want to make a bet Saz Star Walker isn't going to be home, either?"
We waited, sitting on the porch steps, until Chase and his team pul ed up. He frowned as he saw the open door and the lights on in the house. As they came up the steps, I held up my hand.
"Save the lectures. We got word he was missing, and I was asked to look in on him. With that Wolf Briar crap around, we weren't taking any chances. It looks like Doug's been gone awhile." I pointed to the stack of mail. "We just pul ed that out of the mailbox, in hopes there might be some clue. And he's not the only one. Franco Paulo, another werewolf, has been gone too long for comfort. His fiancee is freaking. And we need to check on a Saz Star Walker tonight."
