Page 3 of Quest of the Wolf

“He must have left this before we stormed Augustus’s mansion,” I reasoned.

Maybe he’d had an inkling that he would lose the battle to Lord Abrams’s control device and end up abandoning me.

How a magnet would help me deal with my problems, I didn’t know, but moisture welled in my eyes as I set it on the seat and pulled out. Duncan was a good guy. I needed to rescue him.

“Easier said than done.”

My nerves fluttered in my belly as I merged onto the freeway and headed north. Though it had only been a couple of weeks since I’d escaped from the lavender farm and potion-making facility where I believed Duncan was held prisoner, so much had happened since then that it felt like ages had passed. Before long, the full moon would return. I needed Duncan back so I would have someone to hunt with.

“Sure, that’s the only reason.”

I shook my head at my sarcasm, admitting that Duncan made me smile. He was good company, and we had things in common, more than a love for dark chocolate. I wasn’t always sure I could trust him—or that his creator wouldn’t magically compel him toattack me—but I liked having him in my life. I wished we’d gotten an opportunity to be together physically too. We’d been heading in that direction… until my seventy-year-old mother had shown up and started talking about how Duncan would be a good mate and that I should have babies with him. As ifthatwas an interest of mine at forty-five with two grown sons.

Having a companion, however, was of interest. I’d only recently come to realize that.

Traffic wasn’t bad, and it didn’t take as long as expected to reach the Arlington exit. The last time I’d come this way, the self-driving car of one of our enemy’s minions had been handling the navigation. But I remembered the route. Despite recent development around Arlington, it was still more rural than suburban out here, and there weren’t many roads to choose from.

Even so, I doubted myself when I headed down the street toward TBL Luxury Perfumes and Potions. It had been nighttime when we’d come before. By daylight, the lavender fields I’d expected were visible, but a sign staked by the long stone-paver driveway hadn’t been there before. Momentarily, I wondered if I’d gotten the wrong lavender fields. But, no. The Southwestern-style mansion that didn’t fit in with typical Pacific Northwest architecture was distinctive. This was the right place. But no cars were visible up the long driveway, nor did I see any indications of activity.

I pulled to a stop in front of the sign. FOR SALE, it read and included the name and number of a real estate agent.

Unease crept into me. I drove slowly up the long driveway, halfway expecting the sign to be a ruse, that I would sense werewolves and security guards amped up on strength-enhancing potions. And what about the werewolf boy who had howled at us from the fields? The clone brother Duncan had only recently learned he had. The residents and workers couldn’t all be gone, could they?

Not only did I not sense any magical beings inside the compound, but I didn’t pick up the slighter magic of the potions that had been brewing in the factory. I climbed out of the truck and peered in a few windows. The gift shop was empty. So was what I could see of the mansion.

I slumped against the front door. Duncan wasn’t here. Nobody was.

2

After returningto the front of the property, I called the real estate agent. Angelica Simons. If she’d listed the lavender farm, she would have contact information for the owner. Whether she would give it to me was another matter.

“Hello?” a woman who was presumably Angelica answered.

“Hi, I’m calling about the lavender farm for sale outside of Arlington.” Actually, I was calling about the werewolf that I believed had been held prisoner in it until recently…

“Yes, it’s zoned agricultural and includes more than one hundred acres of mature lavender as well as a five-thousand-square-foot house, gift shop, and state-of-the-art perfumery.”

Perfumery? More like apotionry. Or whatever the proper name was for a facility full of burbling vats of alchemical concoctions.

“It looks really nice.” In a loaded-with-bad-guys residence-of-an-evil-overlord kind of way. “Do you know why the owner is selling?”

“He didn’t say.” The agent’s tone turned a little suspicious. “Are you a qualified buyer?”

“I’m the property manager for qualified buyers who ownnumerous commercial facilities.” Technically, that was true, though my employers exclusively held multifamily properties. I could imagine the stern Kashvi Sylvan pursing her lips with disapproval at the idea of picking up aperfumery. Afraid I would have to lie to continue on with that charade, I switched to, “I’m also a potion, erm, perfume buyer.” I made the slip on purpose to see what kind of reaction I would get. Did the real estate agent know what hadreallybeen manufactured on the premises?

Angelica didn’t answer at all. Hm.

“I’ve visited the gift shop before and was disappointed to find it closed,” I continued. “Do you know if the owner is still in business? Do they have another shop I could visit?”

“I don’t know. The property is listed at twelve million, firm. If your employers want the details, have them call me.” Angelica hung up.

“Well, that’s rude. I called itnice.” After my experience escaping from the place, that wasn’t a descriptor that came easily to mind.

My next call, as I walked around the property, looking for clues that might have been left behind, went to my niece, Jasmine.

“Hey, Luna,” she answered. “Do you want to be areferencefor me?”

“For what? A job application?” I stopped at the wrought-iron gate leading into the walled courtyard. The bar I’d bitten and bent while in wolf form hadn’t been fixed.

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