Page 10 of Quest of the Wolf

“My uncle is a great fan of military history, and he has a cannon collection. I understand it now has one more item in it.”

“Is collecting cannonslegal?” Maybe that was a silly thing to ask since I was now friends with someone who regularly purchased grenades and underwater demolitions.

“Historic muzzleloading black-powder cannons are. They’re considered antiques. The rules around other things are fuzzier, Igather.” Yuto glanced at the signed form and took his phone back. “I’ll be ready to start when you are.”

“Okay, thanks.” As I headed to the leasing office, I debated how I could repay someone for sword-fighting lessons that had been financed with acannon.

4

After work,I endured my first sword-fighting lesson at a dojo a mile from home. Had I not had so much on my mind, I might have enjoyed learning new skills, but, during rest breaks, I’d kept glancing at my phone, hoping Jasmine’s dad had a lead on where Duncan might be. The only message that came in was a note from Austin saying he’d headed up north for his holiday snowboarding vacation. By the end of the lesson, with blisters forming on my palms, I’d vowed to do some more research into Duncan’s captors on my own.

Back at the complex, I walked up to the threshold of an apartment recently rented by Rue, the alchemist who’d formerly resided in downtown Seattle.

I issued the special knock I’d used with mypreviousalchemist, a retired nurse who’d been scared off by Jasmine in werewolf form. Rue hadn’t mentioned such things as being standard in the field, but who knew?

The door opened, a grayish-blue cloud of incense smoke wafting out over the shoulders of the white-haired, wizened-faced Rue. Before long, the ceiling would be dingy with the stuff. In asaner moment, I wouldn’t have leased an apartment to someone who dangled desiccated chicken feet, dried twists of herbs, and odd tufts of fur from the walls. But my life had gotten strange—and dangerous—suggesting I might repeatedly need the services of an alchemist.

“Yes, good.” Rue nodded firmly at me. “Knocking is less obtrusive than the doorbell, which agitates my familiar when she is on the premises. Why do the delivery persons insist on ringing the bell even when you’ve left instructions for them to place the items on the threshold, and the app alerts you to their arrival?” She lifted her smartphone.

I scratched my jaw, somehow finding the thought of sending out for groceries incongruous with a grandmother alchemist. “It’s a busy neighborhood. They want to make sure nobody steals your ingredients.”

Rue blinked. “It is not safe?”

“Sometimes, there are werewolves in the woods.”

“Oh, they do not concern me.” Rue flicked her fingers as if such powerful creatures were of little consequence. Given all the potions—and doubtlesspoisons—she had on shelves and what looked like medicine cabinets mounted all around the living room, she probably believed she could handle them. “Though the rabbit spleens I ordered earlier might have been tempting morsels to roaming werewolves.”

“You got those through Instacart?” I eyed her phone.

“There are other services those of us in the paranormal community find handy.” Rue stepped back, waving me into the smoky living room. “What do you require? Something I can make for you?”

“Maybe. That’s what I came to find out.”

“You are aware of my fees.”

“And that you don’t lower them, despite me giving you two months of free rent and both senior and veteran discounts.” Theseniordiscount was her legitimate right; I had been looser when entering her status as a veteran. Why I’d negotiated at all, I wasn’t sure, except that her concoctionshadbeen useful. With luck, they could be again.

“I allow you to enter and request my services without an appointment. Were you not the property manager who was presuming to tread upon my threshold near my bedtime hour, you might have found yourself doused with my skunk-thistle spray.”

“Bedtime? It’s 7:30 at night.”

“I go to sleep early. It’s good for the skin and one’s overall health.” Rue squinted at me. “Have you been applying my wrinkle cream?”

“No, but I will. It’s been a trying month. I need help finding something.”

Someone.

“You seek your missing werewolf mate. I observed that his vehicle is in the parking lot, but I have not sensed his presence in several days.”

“He’s not my mate, but yes.”

“Is he not itinerant in nature? Perhaps he departed to seek fine treasures elsewhere.”

Finewasn’t an apt word to describe most of the rusty junk Duncan pulled out of lakes, ponds, and seawater, but I didn’t dispute the description, saying only, “Not without his van. It’s full of all his magical equipment for locating things. And also his sardine stash.”

“A tasty treat. I can see why one would not leave such behind.”

I crinkled my nose at that descriptor for the canned fish. “I think bad guys have Duncan—the same bad guys who employ the thugs who tried to get you to supply that Tiger Blood potion.”

---