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"I've coped with worse." And I had the missing finger to prove it. I glanced up at the house and saw the curtains twitch. I glanced back at Kye. "Why are you here? The zombie isn't going to be able to tell you anything about his mistress."
Presuming he was here, of course. We wouldn't know until we got into the house, but while it seemed an illogical place for the witch to hide her creature, people in deep grief sometimes didn't question miracles-even if that miracle was a son they'd freshly buried appearing on their doorstep.
"You don't know that," Kye said.
"I do. It's dead. The blood of others fuels its body, and the thoughts of whoever raised it provide its direction."
"So it really is the walking dead?"
"I'm afraid so."
He considered me for a moment, probably judging whether I was telling the truth or not. "The parents might know something, though."
"They might not, too."
He nodded in acceptance of the point. "We can't stay here all day. Short of cuffing me to the car-and I assure you, that will not be an easy task-you can't really stop me from following you inside."
He had a point. I didn't really want to create a scene-or expend that sort of energy-and that's exactly what would happen if I tried to force the issue.
And to be honest, what would it gain me? Even if I arrested his ass, I had nothing to hold him on. Not that it would stop Jack from detaining him if he became a real problem.
"Besides," he added, "I have a legit press pass. That means I can be here talking to the parents anytime I wish."
"With their approval."
"I'd get it, trust me."
Meaning one way or another he was going to get his information from them. Meaning it was probably better for him to come inside with me, because at least then I could have some control over what was said or done.
"I guess you'd better come in-as long as you shut your mouth and let me do the talking."
"That I can do."
"Let's see, shall we?"
He smiled and opened the small metal gate, then ushered me up the path with a hand to my back. The warmth of his fingers flushed across my skin and the need to step away from his touch warred with the desire to enjoy it.
I knocked on the red-painted door. The sound seemed to echo, as if the house was empty. There was no response for several seconds, though there were at least two wolves inside. I could smell them, as they could undoubtedly smell us.
Eventually footsteps approached and the door opened, revealing a tall, brown wolf with a pinched face and hawklike nose. "Yes?"
"Mr. Habbsheen? Riley Jenson from the Directorate." I showed him my ID then slid it back into my pocket. "I need to talk to you and your wife about your son."
"Our son is dead."
He tried to close the door on us, but I slapped a hand against it and stopped him. "Mr. Habbsheen, as a guardian I don't need a search warrant, and I will force my way into this house if you refuse to cooperate."
Anger flared deep in his brown eyes and for a moment the threat of it filled the air. It was a threat that drew a deep rumbling growl from behind me. Kye wasn't appreciating the response. And I know who'd I'd be putting money on in any fight that arose.
Not that it would. Habbsheen's gaze went from me to Kye and back again, then he visibly forced himself to relax.
"I guess you'd better come in, then." He opened the door wider. "First door on the left."
The house smelled musty, a scent that was both wolf and aged air. And it was cold-icy cold.
Maybe to stop the kid's flesh from rotting too quickly?
My nostrils flared as I drew in the deeper aromas of the house. Underneath the dust and cooking scents, there was another.
