Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

“She’d have no reason to lie, especially since we already figured out there’s something rotten in Lake Bluff.”

“I suppose she’s sending an agent to take over for us idjuts and save the day.”

“Not so much,” Claire said. “According to her, all their agents are otherwise engaged. The last full moon was a doozy.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. From both Claire’s and Malachi’s expressions, they didn’t, either. If supernaturals were acting up all over the place, that more than likely meant they were acting up here, and we were on our own.

Nothing we hadn’t been before.

“Any advice from the great werewolf in the impenetrable fortress to the north?”

“Sounds like a fantasy novel.”

“Never sell,” I said. “Too unrealistic.”

“Got that right. Elise thought we were doing all that we should—exhuming the bodies, ordering the autopsies, checking the legends.”

“Damn, we’re good.”

Claire shot me a glare, and I shut up.

“She hadn’t uncovered any eagle shifter information, but suggested we check local Native American traditions, as they’ve been having a few problems in that direction.”

“She mentioned witchie wolves.” At Claire’s lifted brows, I elaborated. “Ojibwe. Not from here.”

“Doesn’t mean they couldn’t catch a plane, train, or automobile.”

“Most Native American legends are tied to the land of their people, the way those people are part of the land they love.”

“Like you and these mountains.”

“Exactly.”

“We should be checking Cherokee legends,” Claire said. “You do that. I’ll take the Scottish ones and Mal can take the Irish.”

“Unless he already knows them.”

Malachi shook his head. “We lived in Ireland, but we weren’t truly Irish. We were Gypsies, remaining outside of every society we lived among, only trusting of ourselves.”

His gaze went to Claire and softened. He’d been trusting of no one but other Gypsies until her.

I cleared my throat; they stopped mooning at each other and returned their attention to me. “We’re going to have to tell the populace something once they get wind of the autopsies and the exhumations.”

“Something that won’t cause a panic,” Mal said. “Mobs come in all shapes, sizes, and centuries.”

People did get up in arms very easily, and around here that would mean a lot of guns in the streets—a cop’s nightmare.

“What about a virus?” Claire suggested.

“Maybe.” Better to have people staying at home, wearing masks to the store, rather than running around in the forest with their weaponry. “I’ll talk to Doc. I’m sure he’ll have an idea.”

Claire tapped her keyboard, and her computer came to life. “Let’s meet tomorrow.”

“Same bat time?” I asked.

“Same bat channel,” Claire answered.

We’d watched a lot of classic TV as kids—my brothers’ favorite way to shut us up so they could do whatever it was older brothers did when forced to babysit.