Page 2 of Relics of the Wolf

“Oh, it definitely is. It’s at the top of the list, falling under the category ofbuilding character. Your parents are paying me big money for that.”

“They are?”

“No. I’m not being paid any more than you are.” Less, most likely. I wasn’t horribly paid, and my rent was included, but I had a feeling hisallowancewas more than my salary. “I didn’t even agree to take you on. You just showed up.”

“But Ihavebeen helpful to you.” His expression had been confident, but it grew a touch hesitant. “I have been, right? I’m sorry I lost your case.”

Thecasewas a magical ivory artifact with a wolf carved into the lid, but it wasn’t really mine. I hadn’t known it existed until someone—a nomadic werewolf named Duncan—had used a magic detector in my apartment to find it. Since I’d only had it in my possession briefly—apparently, my ex-husband had stashed it in the heat duct under the floor—I couldn’t pretend to be devastated by its loss, but I did regret it. Mostly because of a hunch that the artifact could be important to my kind. It had awolfon the lid, after all.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I asked you to bring it here.” I was glad to see his black eye had healed, but the stitches above it couldn’t hide the scar tissue forming; he would probably have a mark forever. “It was safer in your dad’s vault.”

Bolin nodded and looked around the apartment complex, the older but well-maintained buildings occupying several grassy acres near a greenbelt. “My parents live in agoodneighborhood.”

“They’re only three miles from here.”

As the property manager, as well as handywoman, I always bristled at insults to the apartment complex, even if I couldn’t do anything about the neighborhood. It wasn’tbad, other than the freeway being on the other side of the greenbelt and close enough that we heard the traffic, but this part of Shoreline experienced more crime these days than there once had been.

“In a gated neighborhood where the houses overlook Puget Sound and the snow-capped Olympic Mountains.” Bolin lifted a hand. “I didn’t mean to pick a fight, Luna. I came because I found out my dad did drawings and took rubbings of the case.” He opened the leather Stefano Ricci bag that was dainty and decorative enough that I’d been thinking of it as aman purse,and withdrew some folded sheets of paper. “Remember that writing I mentioned being on the bottom? That was hard to read? My dad magnified it and copied it. Turns out it’s Ancient Greek.”

“That’s not a language I would have expected on a druidic wolf case.”

“Yeah, my dad and I were surprised. You’d think Gaelic for something of druidic origins, but when I poked around, I learned that thereisevidence that druids were in Ancient Greece as early as 200 BCE. Anyway, we borrowed some books and were able to translate the writing.” Bolin unfolded a number of precise drawings and a couple of rubbings.

The familiar wolf portrait was on one page, its head tilted upward, as if to howl, but it was instead displaying its rows of sharp teeth. Bolin shuffled through the papers and held out one showing the bottom of the case. Someone with a tidy hand had translated:Straight from the source lies within protection from venom, poison, and the bite of the werewolf.

The bite of the werewolf. My mother had brought that up when I’d visited her.

She’d spoken of how our kind were slowly dying because the breeding pool had grown limited and we had, as a species, lost the ability to make more of our kind by biting humans and passing along our werewolf magic to them. Since our people had been hunted for eons, and our own ferocious live-by-the-fang-die-by-the-fang ways caused fighting and killing within our packs, we’d always struggled to keep our numbers up. Because the bite magic had been lost, fading from the world like so many other paranormal elements, we’d been dying off. That had seemed to distress my mom even more than her own impending death from cancer.

“I remembered your interest in werewolves and thought you’d be curious,” Bolin said after I’d perused the papers.

“Yes.” I didn’t mention that I would be more interested in something that fostered the transition of werewolf magic rather than offering protection against it, but I had no problem understanding why normal humans would have feared those bites and wanted nothing to do with them. Those from respectable packs had never inflicted their fang magic on an innocent, bringing only those who wished to become werewolves and who were deemed worthy into the pack, but history told us that others had preyed on humans, claiming mates and slaves whether they’d been willing or not.

The case might not hold any answers to our lost bite, but the fact that it mentioned it made me wonder. Bolin’s earlier words came to mind.The more you learn about where something originates, the more you’ll know about it as a whole.

Was it possible that whatever was in the case, if not the case itself, could offer clues about that lost magic?

Unaware of my meandering thoughts, Bolin continued, “My dad and I assume that whatever is orwasstored inside offers protection, not the case itself, but we don’t know for certain. We never did figure out how to open it. I’m upset that I let a thug beat me up and take it. I described him to the police, but they were as unhelpful as I expected.”

“I don’t doubt it. Didn’t you say the guy who attacked you was big and strong and seemed… supernatural?” I didn’t want to suggest he’d been a werewolf, since my intern claimed werewolves didn’t exist, but Bolin’s description had mademethink that was a possibility.

The thug might have been working for my surly cousin Augustus. He’d been trying to kill me to keep me from inheriting a magical medallion from my mom, so it seemed plausible he would have his paws on another artifact.

“He was extremely strong. I don’t tend to win physical battles with other men, or even sturdy and aggressive women—” For some reason, Bolin eyedmewhen he said that, as if my five-foot-three inches and one-hundred-ten pounds would put me in contention for an Olympic shot-put medal. “But this guy threw me against a post like I was a toddler. My feet left the ground completely.”

I nodded. A werewolf, even in human form, had greater-than-typical strength.

“I admit that I’m invested in your case now. Last night, it occurred to me that the assault and theft might have been recorded.” Bolin waved toward the parking lot and the main walkway where security cameras were mounted here and there.

Not a week earlier, I’d checked some of the footage, wanting to see how Duncan had not only defeated a couple of big biker men but also ripped pieces off their motorcycles. The cameras hadn’t been mounted in good locations to catch much of his battle, but I had glimpsed enough to believe he’d done it with his bare hands. Speaking of greater than typical strength… Even for a werewolf, Duncan was a beast in human form.

“We can check them,” I offered.

“If nothing else, I can give the police a photo instead of my vague description.”

“Your description was vague? You know all the words in the dictionary. How could vagueness have been involved?”

“It being dark and him hurling me against posts was the reason for vagueness, not a lack of vocabulary on my part.” Bolin rubbed the side of his head.

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