Page 15 of Relics of the Wolf

“I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again. I was keeping it as a memento.”

“Nothing evokes the nostalgia of an old acquaintance like US currency.” That reminded me that I needed to chip in again since he was driving us around tonight, so I opened my purse to find my GAS envelope and grimaced at its depleted state. At least pay day wasn’t far off.

“Well, you didn’t leave me any other keepsakes.” Duncan glanced over while circling the block to find a vacant spot. “Do you still have that locket we found together?”

“I do. It came in useful when I faced off against my family—the part of my family that believes I’m a heretic who should be dead.”

“You should avoid that part of your family.”

“Tell me about it.” I pulled out three dollars, making a guess on an appropriate amount for the evening’s drive. This wasn’t as long of a trek as when we’d gone to the mountains to hunt, and I could tell Duncan didn’t care if I gave him money or not, but I hated to feel in debt to anyone. I tucked the bills under the bobblehead with the others.

“Since you’ve deigned to speak with me again, I won’t ask you for a more personal keepsake,” Duncan said.

“You think I’m going to be a regular part of your life now?”

“At least until we find your case.” He saluted toward me, then pulled into a spot.

“It’s not really my case. I just don’t think it’s my ex-husband’s case either. Knowing him, he probably stole it. If we find it, I’d like to show it to my mom and also get Bolin’s dad to research it more and see if it holds any clues for my people—ourpeople. We haven’t seen what’s inside yet. After they’re done researching, his family can figure out who it should go to. Maybe there’s a museum for druidic artifacts. They have to be at least as educational and interesting as rusty logging tools.”

“I should think so. What link to werewolves do you think the case has? Besides the obvious wolf on the lid?”

As we climbed out of the van, the salty air heavy with mist, I debated again whether to tell him about the writing. It wasn’t as if the words had hinted of a tremendous secret, and the information shouldn’t make Duncan more eager to snatch the case for Chad. If anything, Duncan might feel some loyalty toward our kind andnotwant to hand the artifact over to a mere humanfanatic.My lip curled at that description for Chad. I didn’t doubt that werewolves were an obsession for him—overhearing that conversation had given me more evidence of something I’d suspected for years, that he’d only been interested inmebecause of my lupine heritage. But something told me there was more than a fan’s curiosity behind his desire to get the case back. He’d known it was valuable when he’d gone through all the effort to hide it in the apartment. And install those cameras. The memory of finding those made my lip curl again.

When Duncan looked over, doubtless waiting for an answer to his question, I said, “The writing on the bottom that I mentioned. Bolin and his dad translated it.Straight from the source lies within protection from venom, poison, and the bite of the werewolf.”

“So whatever clunked inside might be a powerful artifact, more than the case itself.”

“I wondered if it might give us clues about the lost magic of the werewolf bite. My mother was recently lamenting about that, about how our people are slowly dying without the ability to create werewolves through means other than procreation, and inbreeding has been on the rise as a result these past centuries. Maybe that’s why Augustus turned into such a turd.”

“You think genetic insufficiencies could account for that?” Duncan asked.

“Alotof insufficiencies. He probably licked glowing toadstools as a kid and wandered through radioactive ponds.”

Duncan chuckled as we headed out onto a pier with walkways on either side and restaurants and shops in the middle. They all looked like normal human destinations. Would we truly find a paranormal bar among them? Maybe it would also look normal but have a back room for warlocks and clairvoyants to swill beer and throw darts under the guidance of their powers.

As I searched for a sign, Duncan peered over the railing into the dark water lapping at the pilings. Fog was drifting in, so I doubted he could see much.

The hazy weather reminded me of the night we’d been attacked by wolves and stray dogs with glowing eyes. I hoped the wolf—presumably thewerewolf—we’d heard howling hadn’t followed us and didn’t have similar plans. Unfortunately, my face-off with Augustus hadn’t led to anything conclusive, like a promise that he would leave me alone. My mom and her mate, Lorenzo, had threatened to kick Augustus’s ass if he tried to kill me again, but we were a long way from the pack’s hunting grounds. My cousin might think he could get away with offing me if it happened in the city. Who would know? It wasn’t as if the pack would trust or even listen to a report from the lone wolf Duncan if he survived and I died.

“I’ll only stop if I sense something magical, but I’ll wager there’s all kinds of good stuff down there.” Duncan’s voice was full of longing. He had no idea I was mulling over my death.

“Even better than the barnacle-covered wooden handles of saws from the 1800s?” I put aside my grim thoughts about murdering cousins. Ahead, a sandwich-board read El Gato Mágico in chalked cursive writing and had a round flask on it, blue liquid bubbling inside. An arrow pointed to a narrow alley between buildings.

“Most assuredly.” After another longing look at the water, Duncan followed me into the alley. “I can come back later when I’m not on an important mission.”

“I won’t stop you if you want to look.”

“And leave you to enter a den of paranormal danger on your own? I am certain you’re capable of dealing with such places, but a gentleman doesn’t abandon a lady to possible plight.”

“That means you didn’t sense anything magical under the pier, right?”

“Not in the spot we just walked over, no.” Duncan smiled, stepped forward, and held the door open for me.

Pop music with a Latino flair floated out, not what I would have expected from a bar where witches and warlocks hung out. Before I could step in, a gangly man who looked like a forty-year-old version of Harry Potter stumbled out. He had a lean face, beaky nose, wore glasses, and clutched a cape against the cold as he peered blearily around like he might be trying to remember where he’d parked.

“Is that a pencil tucked behind his ear? Or a wand?” I murmured as he shambled past us.

As far as I knew, real magic wands didn’t exist, wood being a poor conductor for power of any kind, but that didn’t keep hucksters from selling such things.

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