Page 11 of Hell and Hexes
Chapter 5
Sylvie
The werewolves were on high alert, following me up the mountain to the compound and announcing my arrival with barks and howls. I parked and exited my car to see half a dozen werewolves in human form and three in wolf form, all clustered around my vehicle and eyeing me uneasily.
“Relax,” I told them. “I’m not here to burn anyone’s beard off or anything. I just wanted to talk to Bart.”
They all exchanged glances. “That fight at Petunia’s wasn’t his fault,” an older female wolf told me. “Bart didn’t start it. Melvin stabbed him with a screwdriver. He’s the one you need to be arresting.”
I held out my hands. “Do I look like I’m arresting anyone? I just want to talk to Bart.”
They eyed me suspiciously. “What do ya need him for?” the older female finally asked.
Obviously, I couldn’t tell them the real reason I wanted to speak to Bart. Luckily, I’d been secretly providing counseling sessions to werewolves for years, and I’d learned a lot about their culture. Basically, I knew what their weaknesses were, and I felt no regret at all about using them right now.
“He was one of the winners in the firehouse raffle.”
I could practically feel the excitement running through the nine werewolves in front of me. One of the ones in wolf form licked his muzzle and did a four-legged happy dance.
“What did he win?” the older female squealed, clapping her hands together.
Werewolves weren’t the only beings in Accident that adored games, but they especially liked ones where there was a prize to the winner. Didn’t matter if it was a ball of yarn or a scrap of paper, they’d brag and show it off to everyone like they’d just won a dragon’s hoard.
“I’m only telling Bart.” That announcement ratcheted up the excitement considerably, and two of the four-legged werewolves raced off. I was sure they were going to find Bart.
“Was it the latch-hook rug with the birds on it?” the older woman asked. “The bread maker? The month’s supply of gluten-free avocado toast?”
“I’ll bet it was the free mani-pedi from Evaline’s,” a young male werewolf said, glancing at his fingernails longingly. “Lucky bastard.”
“Or that pheasant from Dale’s Taxidermy,” another young male added. “I really wanted that.”
The two werewolves in wolf form raced back, yipping and barking. The older female turned to them, then back to me. “Bart’s in his den. He asked if you wouldn’t mind visiting him there since he’s still a little gimpy from getting stabbed yesterday.”
Werewolves were very private about their homes. Outsiders were usually met at the main compound house, or…well, outside. Bart must have been really hurt to still be suffering from the injury enough not to hobble over to the main house.
“No problem.” I followed the two wolf-form werewolves through a maze of alleyways. Other werewolves peeked out from windows and doorways with curiosity. A few of them followed me until one of my escorts turned and growled. Everyone scattered back to their houses, and we continued to the very edge of the row to a small one-story cabin.
At one of my escorts’ scratching, a voice called to come in. I swung the door open and turned to the two wolves.
“No listening,” I told them. “Let Bart be the one to tell everyone what he won. Don’t spoil his surprise.”
They both regarded me with huge brown eyes, then nodded and took off, trotting down the lane. I went in, closing the door behind me and letting my eyes adjust a bit to the dim lighting of Bart’s home.
It was one big main room with a door that I was pretty sure led to the bathroom and another beside it that probably led to a small bedroom. The main room had a kitchenette off to the side with an island-bar type dining area. Two giant cushioned sofas took up most of the room. Bart lay on one, his leg bandaged around the thigh and propped up on a leather ottoman.
“What did I win?” His eyes glowed, the normal brown turning gold with his excitement.
I sat across from him. “Nothing. It was my excuse to get to see you.”
I felt bad at the disappointment in his face. “Really? I was hoping it was that latch-hook rug with the birds on it.”
“Better luck next time,” I told him. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something else, and I need you to be absolutely honest with me.”
He scowled. “It wasn’t my fault. Melvin stabbed me with a screwdriver.”
I rolled my eyes. “After you elbowed him. But I’m not here to talk to you about that. I’m here to discuss Stanley with you.”
He eyed me uneasily. “Who? Don’t know any Stanley.”
