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“I’m not sure I can help make it make more sense, Bryce.”
“Try me.”
So, for the third time, I went over the whys and hows of Tansy’s demon possession, though even I couldn’t help him with the dimensional-folds thing. Santiago had shrugged when I asked him to clarify it for me, so I had nothing to draw from to explain it to Perry.
He was writing down what I said, but I still wasn’t sure he really got it. There was a lot to absorb. At the very least he seemed to get that there was a big difference between Alexandra’s murder and Liam’s, as far as Tansy’s guilt went.
Overall, it was going to be an exciting new chapter in a paranormal law book someday. She’d probably be the first person who got to use a possessed-by-demon defense and have a hope of it actually working.
I hadn’t spoken to Tansy or Cash since that night at Fort Pike. If Tansy’s lawyers needed a witness, I’d be there, but other than that I’d wiped my hands clean of the whole thing. Laura and Heidi were alive, and Gamigan was trapped inside a small gold statue somewhere in Beau Cain’s house, hopefully never to be heard from again. Mason and Emmett had been cleared of all charges, and Liam’s family had an answer—if not a very satisfying one—about what had happened to their son.
As far as solutions went, it was pretty tidily wrapped up.
“You know, you’re really good with this stuff,” Perry noted, hopping off the hood of the car. “You think you might be interested in taking this special-investigator thing full-time? We could use someone in the paranormal case unit who knows what the hell they’re talking about.”
I scoffed and slid down the hood, landing on my feet. “I’m already a pack Alpha. You’ve seen firsthand how much fun that is.” I was flattered all the same. I’d had fun—in a roundabout way—solving Liam’s murder. Not the outcome, that is, but the part where I had to figure out what had happened to him. If my situation were different, I might have taken Perry’s offer more seriously. “But you know where to find me if shit gets too weird.”
“Just no memory spells, right?” He smirked.
I thought of the smell of elephant brain that had lingered on my skin for days. “Not in a million years.”
I started to walk across the street to where Wilder was waiting with one helmet in his lap and another on the seat behind him. Perry shouted, “Hey, Genie, I don’t think I thanked you.”
“You didn’t,” I replied without looking back. “But don’t worry. You’ll make it up to me one day.”
Wilder tossed me the spare helmet, and I caught it one-handed, still enjoying the novelty of my non-dislocated arm even a week later. I’d forced him to high-five me every day because I wanted to show off how non-dislocated it was.
I climbed up behind him, burrowing my face against the back of his neck and giving the skin at the nape a little bite. Wilder gave a shiver and squeezed my thigh with his hand as I set my legs alongside his.
“Tease.”
“It’s only teasing if I don’t put out,” I reminded him, kissing the spot I’d just bitten. “Now drive, before you convince me we need to stop at home first.”
“We could.”
I put my helmet on. “I can’t hear you, sorry.”
“You’ll pay for that later.”
“Promise?”
“Oh sure, now you can hear me.” He rumbled with laughter, and I wrapped my arms around his waist, snuggling against him for the long ride to St. Francisville.
Two hours in a full-body hug with a guy who smelled like masculinity incarnate.
How terrible.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Night had fallen, leaving most of Uncle Callum’s property in a state of inky blackness, like the inside of a velvet bag.
I’d left Wilder at The Den, drinking with some of the other guys in the pack we hadn’t seen in awhile. He knew what I’d come here for, but the pretense was that we both needed a short break from the city to rest and recharge after a difficult week.
Callum was away in Shreveport visiting one of his packs, and Ben was still in New Orleans—with my permission—meaning there was no one here to ask any questions about what I was doing.
I walked between the cabins behind The Den, a series of small houses for guests, or pack members who lived on Callum’s estate full-time. They were brightly colored, consisting of two small rooms: a bedroom and a living space, with a bathroom tucked in as well. Most sat empty at the moment, and those that were occupied had their lights off—either the tenants were asleep or at the bar.
I padded barefoot past them until I reached the back edge of the property, where the lawn gave way to woods. That was when I started to run. I ran straight ahead for half a mile, until I crossed a small stream, and stopped. The water was cool under my feet—almost cold as it lapped at my ankles. Now we were in the latter half of October and fall was creeping in, insinuating itself in all the places summer had held her long, sticky reign.
