Page 38 of Death and Divination
Chapter 13
Ophelia
Ididn’t leave the werewolf compound and go straight to the firehouse and pick up Nash. No, instead I drove the circuitous route around narrow rocky lanes to the back side of the mountain and the tiny bit of territory that Clinton Dickskin had seized from his father. The last mile I was accompanied by three wolves who ran beside my car, signaling my arrival with a series of yips and howls. By the time I pulled into the makeshift metal gates, Clinton was waiting for me.
As much as I agreed with the concept that werewolves should be able to form multiple packs and have their choice of leadership, I really didn’t get the appeal of hitching your wagon to Clinton Dickskin. Where Dallas was smooth-talking, strong, and exuded a sort of raw leadership, Clinton came across as a spoiled bully. He spent his free time prowling around the taverns of Accident with a handful of his buddies, drinking booze, playing pool, and getting in fights. The only thing he had going for him in my opinion was that he wasn’t a skeevy lecherous pig like his father was.
I noted right away that while Cassie had burned the werewolf’s beard off, he wasn’t making serious inroads into growing it back. He should have had at least a few inches of whiskers by now with the way werewolves grew hair. Instead Clinton was sporting a five o’clock shadow.
“Changing the personal appearance up a bit,” I commented as I climbed out of the car.
Clinton stepped forward to hold the door for me, which nearly caused me to pass out in shock. Werewolves extended courtesies to their own, but not generally to others. Either Clinton was making efforts to change, or he wanted something from me, and this was an attempt to ingratiate himself.
Or perhaps Cassie’s little discussion and beard-burning visit had made him decide he needed to be extra nice to the witches.
“Kinda feels good to be bare-faced.” He rubbed a hand over the stubble. “At least it was bare-faced this morning. I might decide all the shaving is more trouble than it’s worth.”
Huh. A clean-shaven male werewolf. That was an unusual choice. I wondered how much of it reallywasClinton’s decision. Cassie had burned his beard off, but I wouldn’t put it past her to have asked Sylvie for a hex to keep Clinton from growing it back. Sylvie tended to stick to the luck side of spells, but I wouldn’t fault her for casting a hex like this. The werewolf’s scheme last month could have killed Bronwyn.
“It looks nice,” I told him. “You should keep it up.”
He blushed, which was even more noticeable with the lack of facial hair. It was then I realized Clinton was a good-looking guy. I guess some werewolves looked better with the beards and some better without. Clinton was clearly one of the latter.
“I don’t got much in the way of hospitality to offer you.” He led the way to a sprawling hacienda-style house that was so new I could practically smell the fresh-cut lumber.
“No worries. I’m actually looking for a female werewolf named Tink and wondering if you’d seen her.”
He shot me a puzzled frown, then opened the door and stood aside for me to enter. “She’s not one of my pack. If you’re looking for Tink, you’d best head up the road to the compound.”
I hesitated for a moment, admiring Clinton’s décor. The split in the werewolf pack had taken place a few months ago. In that time, they’d managed to build this lodge and a handful of adjoining cabins, put up fencing and gates, built roads, and pee around the perimeter of what they were calling their territory.
Yeah. Pee. Because werewolves were obsessed with urinating around stuff. I was pretty sure the first thing Shelby had done after moving in with Alberta was go pee around the bridge and their home. And I was sure she “refreshed” it all weekly or after a serious rain.
In addition to the necessities, Clinton’s pack had also managed to outfit the lodge with a nice selection of curtains, rugs, inexpensive futons, and a papasan that all obviously came from a mish-mash of discount stores but were also obviously chosen with care and an eye to color coordination. Either Clinton had decorating skills that had previously gone unnoticed, or he had a member of his pack who should be on HGTV. The wide open space was a pleasing array of burgundy, navy, and gold southwestern-style prints. I liked it. I liked it a lot.
But I wasn’t here to admire the rugs; I was here to find a missing werewolf.
“I was already up at Dallas’ place,” I told Clinton. “Tink isn’t there. She hasn’t been there since before last night.”
Clinton shrugged. “Could have gone out on a long solo hunt. Or drinking in town. Or maybe she found herself a troll to have sex with.”
I refused to respond to that last bit, knowing that Clinton held quite a grudge against Shelby and Alberta. It wasn’t just the troll/werewolf relationship that set his hackles up, it was that Shelby had attempted to kill him to keep the relationship a secret.
“Is Tink the type to want to go lone wolf?” I asked instead. “Maybe she decided she wanted to leave the pack, and they’re punishing her and pretending that she’s just missing overnight?”
Clinton laughed. “There’d have to be something pretty serious for Tink to even think about going it alone. She’s very pack-loyal. I can’t see her ever being happy on her own or even in a smaller pack like mine. She likes the power of being with a large group. Plus, if they were punishing her and she were in solitary, Dallas would tell you—or tell you it was none of your damned business. He wouldn’t give you some story of her being gone. She’s probably just hunting.”
“I did a divination, and signs point to her being in trouble,” I insisted. “Call it a welfare check, but I’m concerned.”
Clinton squinted. “What exactlywasyour vision?”
“Blood on leaves. Something dead. Moon on the mountain. Blood in a path to a werewolf’s door. Golf balls.” I waved away the golf balls at his incredulous look. “I got the impression that Tink was being pressed into a mating she didn’t want, that her mother was giving her an ultimatum about accepting this werewolf suitor. In my vision, she was considering becoming a lone wolf to avoid mating with this wolf and her refusal to do so was putting her life in danger.”
Clinton slowly shook his head. “Look, Tink’s always had delusions of grandeur. She’s a strong wolf. Little tiny thing, but dominant as all get out. Human girls dream of marrying princes; well, werewolf girls dream of marrying the pack alpha.”
“Little werewolf girls dream of marrying Dallas?” Ugh. Gross. I mean, the guy was powerful, but he wasn’t exactly young and dashing.
“Or me.” Clinton gave me a sheepish grin. “It was always assumed I’d eventually win a challenge and take over the pack, although pack alpha isn’t necessarily a father-son thing. Dallas beat out Old Dog Butch over six of Butch’s sons. I’ve had plenty of female werewolves indicate that they were interested in being my mate.”
