"Grace?" I stepped into the kitchen. The house was as silent as a tomb.
The cliche made my skin crawl, so I hit the lights and shouted, "Grace!"
The table was covered with guns and ammo, the boxes from a specialty gun shop in Tennessee that boasted "made-to-order anything. " Places like that gave me the willies, but I guess, in this case, it was lucky for us they existed.
Grace must have dropped a bundle to get this stuff here so quickly. The truly interesting thing was that they had to have had the bullets ready-made to have sent so many, so fast. Which only made me think we were a little slow on the uptake in regard to the existence of werewolves.
It wasn't like Grace to leave loaded weapons where anyone could find them, just as it wasn't like Grace to leave her back door open if she wasn't at home. It really, really wasn't like Grace to do both at the same time.
I picked up one of the guns, a pistol with a safety that I made certain was on, and slowly made my way through the house.
She wasn't on the first floor - dead or alive - so I headed up the stairs. The bathroom was empty and as dry and cool as a midwinter Sunday. Grace hadn't taken a shower and gone to work, absentmindedly leaving all her guns and ammo behind and forgetting to lock the door. Besides, the squad car was right outside.
On the one hand, the car made me relax. She'd returned here after following the mysterious shooter into the woods last night. On the other hand, the car made me really nervous. Where was she?
"Grace!" My voice was both angry and frightened - a combination that was becoming too familiar lately.
She wasn't in her bedroom; either the bed hadn't been slept in or she'd made it, rucking in the corners as anally as a sergeant major.
I remembered how I'd found her the last time and pulled out my cell, hitting the speed dial for hers. The distant brrrring drew me out of her room and toward the second flight of stairs that led to her dad's former attic lair.
Well, I had wanted to see what she'd done with the place.
I climbed the winding staircase, my eyes on the dark circle at the top. Suddenly I wasn't so sure I should go up there, but what choice did I have? Grace might be hurt, or worse.
I reached the landing. The knob turned in my hand, the door swinging open with a head-splitting shriek. I felt around for the light, flicked the switch, but nothing happened. Luckily, the sun was up just high enough to push golden tendrils through the single window and illuminate the books and the beakers, the test tubes and the toads.
Make that toad. In an aquarium. I didn't think it was a pet since it was as dead as Balthazar, though a lot less crispy.
Crystals lay scattered about; dream catchers hung from the ceiling. I didn't think they were of Cherokee origin, but whatever. The thing that bothered me the most was the swastika-marked rune atop her work-table.
"Lucy, you've got some 'splainin' to do. " I scooped up the rune - I couldn't tell if it were the one I'd "lost" or another one entirely - then thundered back down two flights of stairs and out the back door to find Grace emerging once again from the forest wearing nothing but a snow-white robe. However, this time that meant a whole lot more to me than it had last time.
I lifted the gun. "Strigoi de lup, I presume?"
Instead of being concerned, she snorted and strode toward me. "Gibberish will get you a smack in the head before I've had coffee. "
"Grace. " I put both palms around the grip of the gun to steady it. "You're a werewolf. "
"Am not," she returned, then stopped, contemplating my face. "But you think I am. Tell me this, genius. If I'm a werewolf, how did I manage to toss a silver bullet at fifty Gypsies, or load the damn guns without frying my fingers off?"
"I only have Doc's word that silver causes burns in human form. "
"You'll just have to trust me. "
"What the hell are you up to, Grace?"
"Nothing that affects this. "
"No?" I displayed the rune between my thumb and forefinger.
She growled with annoyance and snatched the gun out of my hand. Lucky for her I hadn't removed the safety.
"Don't be an ass. " She stalked into the house, calling over her shoulder, "Come on. We need to talk. "
Since she was right, I followed her inside.
"You first," she said, as she measured coffee grounds into the basket. "What are you doing here at this time of the morning, and why do you think I'm a werewolf?"