Page 5 of Quest of the Wolf

Unfortunately, I didn’t have much sway with my fur-sprouting kin. I was lucky the pack hadn’t ostracized me for killing my cousin, Augustus.

My phone rang. I pounced on it, hoping Jasmine already had leads for me, but Bolin—spelling-bee champion, fledgling druid, and my intern at the apartment complex—was calling.

“Hi, Luna,” he said. “Are you here?”

“At Sylvan Serenity? No, I’m… running an errand.” Even though Duncan was a priority, I couldn’t help but wince since myerrandwas taking place during work hours. I vowed to stay late this evening to tackle whatever deluge of tenant requests had come in that day.

“You might want to come back.”

“Trouble?”

“Yeah.”

3

Heading back south,the traffic was worse, and I gripped the steering wheel, knuckles flexing. Bolin hadn’t given me any more details before hanging up, and I worried that the motorcycle gang was harassing the apartment complex again. Or, what if my cousins who had been kicked out of the pack had shown up to exact revenge?

My skin buzzed with heat, magic pricking at my veins. I almost laughed. The wolf magic that hadn’t wanted to let me draw upon it when I’d been thinking of breaking into the lavender compound was stirring now, my strong emotions calling to it.

But turning into a wolf while driving down the freeway was a bad idea. A very bad idea. I took a few long, slow breaths, willing my body to calm. Fortunately, I reached my exit without fur sprouting from my arms.

When I turned into the parking lot for Sylvan Serenity, there weren’t any motorcycles, police cars, shattered windows, or other signs of fresh chaos. Instead, it appeared peaceful, the wan winter sun gleaming on cars and throwing long shadows from the evergreen trees edging the lawn. Bolin’s blue Mercedes G-Wagon wasparked under some of those trees, his translucent portable garage blown up to protect it from bird droppings.

“Such a strange druid.” After pulling in beside the SUV, I peered around for the promised trouble.

An unfamiliar BMW in a guest parking spot was the only thing potentially amiss. Neither it nor Bolin’s ride were the types of vehicles that my tenants owned.

The door to the leasing office was open, and Bolin leaned out as I walked up. Behind him stood an older man with lighter skin than Bolin but who had his same mussy red hair. My step faltered. That was his father, Rory Sylvan.

Were both of his parents here again? Hopefully, they hadn’t come to discuss selling the property. When they’d shown up the week before, that had been the first time I’d seen them in years. I preferred that frequency of visitation from the owners—my employers.

Since myerrandhad taken me away from the property in the middle of the workday, I quickened my pace. Until werewolves—and thieves of werewolf artifacts—had inserted themselves into my life, I’d never randomly taken off during the day unless it was to pick up parts to repair one of the units. But now… I grimaced with guilt, hating that I had become a less-than-ideal employee, especially during a time when the owners were paying extra attention. At least the place still looked good. It hadn’t always been during office hours, but I’d kept up with all the maintenance requests and regular seasonal issues.

Bolin stepped outside to meet me, and I heard Kashvi Sylvan’s voice. Yes, both of his parents were in the leasing office. She seemed to be talking to someone besides her husband.

“Is this the trouble you mentioned?” I nodded toward the office but also rested a hand on my chest, half-wondering ifIwas the trouble. Or the oneintrouble, rather.

“I thought you might find it concerning,” Bolin said.

“People in the leasing office? Nah, I dusted and took out the trash this morning. It’s not that concerning.”

His grave look told me thatwasn’twhat had prompted his call. “They’re showing a potential corporate buyer around the property.”

I groaned, my gaze drifting back to the BMW.

Before, I’d dreaded the idea of motorcycle thugs, but now I wished vandals would roar through the parking lot. Or what about my ghost-hunting tenants? Couldn’t they wander past with their glowing and beeping equipment? I needed something to happen to convince a buyer that this place was too weird to be interested in. Especially acorporatebuyer. Yuck.

Sure, the Sylvans had gotten super rich over the years and were a long way from qualifying as a mom-and-pop business, but they also weren’t a heartless, publicly-traded company cutting costs at all expense to make their wealthy shareholders happy.

Alas, the sun was doing an excellent job of highlighting the well-tended grounds, the recently pressure-washed roof, and birds flitting about as they chirped appealingly in the trees. There wasn’t even any freshly chewed gum stuck to the side of the cluster mailboxes. If I were a real-estate photographer, I would choose this day to take pictures.

As if the thought had summoned such a person, a young man with a drone tucked under one arm wandered in from the parking lot.

“I’m here to take the photos,” he called when Rory Sylvan looked out the door and waved at him.

I groaned again, managing to muffle it when Rory noticed us and acknowledged me with his wave. I attempted a smile as I returned the gesture, not wanting to share the bleakness I felt, that I was about to lose my home and job of twenty-plus years.

Would a newcorporateowner want to keep on someonewithout a college degree? Someone who kept drawing trouble, especially werewolf trouble, to the complex?

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