Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

I showered, soaping up twice for the same reason, then dressed in a fresh, crisp uniform, strapped on my weapon, braided my hair. I stared at myself in the mirror. My nose was back to normal; the only remnant of my two black eyes was a slight yellow shading across one brow bone. I could use Ian’s balm, but I didn’t want to. For all I knew, the stuff was an aphrodisiac or some kind of lust potion, which would explain my hopping into bed with him so easily.

“It couldn’t just be that you were horny and he’s hot?” I asked the woman in the mirror.

She gave me the finger.

My boots made a satisfying thunder against the steps as I ran downstairs. I concentrated on the rhythmic thud and not the pain in my chest.

The best way to forget all of this was to throw myself into my work; it wasn’t as if I didn’t have plenty to do. I had a dead citizen minus one heart, and a lot of relatives to interview.

I opened the front door and stepped onto the porch.

The wolf was back.

Chapter 19

The animal stood on the hood of my brand-new squad car. If I hadn’t known she was a messenger, I might have been worried about the paint job. Those claws appeared awfully sharp for a spirit wolf.

“Now what?”

The beast tilted her head.

“I got the message. Watch over Quatie. I’ll go there later today. You don’t have to keep coming back, Grandmother.”

The wolf growled and jumped off the hood. The car bucked up and then down as if something heavy had just been removed.

I took one step forward. The wolf turned and ran. I followed, but by the time I reached the trees, she was gone.

The mist was lifting; the sun shone through, sparking brightly off the droplets of moisture on the grass, the branches, my shiny new car. Come to think of it, the spirit wolf had looked a little wet, too.

Too much was going on this morning. Far too much had been going on all night. I sat on the hood and put my head in my hands.

“What’s done is done,” I said. “If the wife ever turns up, I’ll apologize. Let her pop me in the nose.”

I probed my recently healed appendage. It was only fair.

“Until then,” I continued, “leave him alone and you’re good.” Or at least as good as I was going to get.

Standing, I peered at the smooth finish of the car. Not a mark on it. I hadn’t expected there to be.

I gazed in the direction the wolf had gone. North, just like last time. I hadn’t figured to see the wolf again since I’d gotten the message, but either I’d gotten the wrong message or there was a new one.

I wished I could ask Ian about this, but I was going to have to make do with my own investigative skills from here on out.

Inside I found a book I’d bought on Cherokee traditions—sad that I had to get a book off of Amazon for something I should already know, but I didn’t have much choice. I turned to a section on directions.

As Ian had said, to the west lay the Darkening Land, a place of thunder, its color black. In the east was the land of the sun, triumph, power, the color red. The south held Wahala, the white mountain where peace and good health were found. To the north waited the Frigid Land, a site of sadness and trouble, its color blue.

The wolf had materialized each time either before Ian had shown up or after he’d left, then run north. Was she trying to tell me that Ian was trouble?

As if in answer, a sharp, insistent howl rose from the distant hills. I’d never heard a wolf howl in the daytime. I’d never heard a wolf howl at all until last summer. As previously stated, we didn’t have them.

If the messenger wanted me to help Quatie, I would. If the wolf wanted me to be careful of Ian, I’d already figured that out for myself. And if she came back?

I almost wished the thing were a werewolf, because then I could shoot it.

* * *

I didn’t bother to go to the office. I didn’t want to see Cal or Jordan. I called in, said I was going on patrol. I could do whatever I wanted. I was the boss.