“Hardly, especially given the smell in this place. I’m not entirely sure how you stand it all the time.”
“You get used to it.” She studied me speculatively. “And it shouldn’t be all that noticeable to a human nose.”
“I’m not human, per se. I’m a wild-magic-enhanced witch.”
“True.” She motioned to several bite marks on the upper portion of his attached thigh. “I’ve sent images to a forensic odontologist for a second opinion, but I believe these are caused by human teeth rather than wolf or anything else.”
“So, does that mean we’re not dealing with a rogue werewolf?” Monty asked.
“Not necessarily,” Aiden said. “It would depend on what stage of degradation he or she is at. It’s possible the body has mutated but not yet the facial structure.”
“Which, aside from being an unpleasant situation,” Ciara said, “would tip the rogue further into madness. Human teeth are not designed to rip fresh flesh, and his morphing state wouldn’t make it viable to interact or even remain with his pack.”
“So he or she is from one of our packs?” Monty said.
Aiden shook his head. “We’d have been informed at the first sign of it happening. The reservation relies too heavily on tourism now to risk a rogue on the loose.”
“How do you explain the tears across his stomach?” I said. “They don’t look clean enough to be knife wounds—unless, of course, a serrated knife was used. And don’t give me that look, Ciara—I’m a cook. Knives are part of my business.”
She smiled. “That is where things get interesting. They appear to be the result of both claws and fangs.”
“So, a different attacker to whoever caused the bites on the legs and arms?” Monty asked.
“Unknown, as the saliva results are inconclusive.”
I frowned. “Wolves don’t use claws to attack, and canines would have resulted in a different type of wound,” I said. “So wouldn’t that confirm there are two attackers?”
Aiden nodded. “Unless the stomach wounds were inflicted after the initial attack.”
“But,” Ciara said, “a wolf the size of Patrick should have been able to repel—or at least curtail—such an attack.”
“But rogues have almost supernatural strength, don’t they?” Monty asked.
She nodded. “But if he was morphing between forms, it would have addled his—or her—senses. That would have given Patrick the advantage.”
“Then there’s the whole lack of scent or print factor,” Aiden said. “I know there’re means of disguising both, but we did a wide search and weren’t able to pick anything up.”
Monty frowned. “Not even the kid Patrick said he’d heard?”
“No—and it’s that fact that makes me think something else might be going on. Patrick wouldn’t have made a false report, so even if the kid somehow made it home, we should have found their scent in the wider searches, at least.”
Monty glanced at me. “You didn’t feel anything to suggest we’re dealing with a supernatural or demonic entity?”
“No, but I didn’t get down to the murder site, either.”
“Ah well, maybe we’d better head across and check it out.”
I wrinkled my nose. “As much as I’d love to do just that, my feet aren’t in any condition to take another long hike. Besides, there wouldn’t be much left in the way of magical clues now given how much time has passed, surely?”
“Probably not, but it’s still worth checking.” He frowned. “If we are dealing with some sort of supernatural entity, it might be worth doing a search through your library.”
Meaning the supernatural and spell library Belle had inherited from her grandmother. “I think we’re probably going to need a bit more information than simply ‘an entity that mimics a kid crying’ to have any hope of finding anything, but I can look.”
“Good.” His gaze moved to Aiden. “I’ll need someone to take me out there, Ranger.”
“I will.” Aiden glanced at his sister. “You’ll send the full report as soon as it’s available?”
“As ever,” she said with a smile.
“Thanks.” Aiden pressed a hand lightly to my spine and gently ushered me out after Monty. I breathed deeply once we were all outside, but it didn’t do a whole lot to erase the taste of death and antiseptic. Sharper senses, I thought sourly, weren’t everything they were cracked up to be.
“Do you mind driving Liz back to the café?” Monty said. “I’ll need to zip home and grab some things.”
Aiden nodded. “I’ll meet you there, if you like. Your car wouldn’t take the roads around Fryer’s Point too well anyway.”
“His car,” I said, voice severe but a smile twitching my lips, “would disintegrate on those damn roads.”
Monty laughed, jumped into his car, and headed off.
“He seems in an extraordinarily good mood today,” Aiden commented, helping me into his truck.
“Good doesn’t even begin to describe his mood. He arranged for Belle’s mom to come visit and somehow managed to keep the whole thing from Belle.”
“Now that is an impressive achievement.” He turned the truck around and headed for the café.
“I know, right?” I shifted in my seat to study him. “So, what were you going to tell me last night before that phone call interrupted?”
He cast me a wry look. “We’ll be outside your café in a minute—that’s hardly enough time to go into any sort of detail—”
“Why is detail needed?”
He hesitated. “Because it involves wolf politics, my mother, and the fact she’s my alpha.”
“Oh, that’s never a good combination.”
“No.” A smile twisted his lips. “I’ll explain later tonight. Promise.”
“If you don’t get sidetracked by whatever Monty discovers up on the ridge and have to work late.”
“I won’t.” He pulled up in front of our café.
I sighed, undid my seat belt, then leaned across and kissed him, long and lingering. “Don’t be late with dinner, or I’ll get grouchy.”
He laughed softly. “I’ve swapped shifts with Mac, so I should be home by seven.”
“Excellent.”
I kissed him again, then grabbed my purse and climbed out. Once he’d driven off, I hobbled down the lane that ran down the side of our café to the parking area at the rear. As much as I wanted to know what had happened to my “other” family in the years since we’d fled, Belle needed time alone with her mom.
I jumped into the Suzi, reversed her out, and then headed over to the storage facility where we kept the majority of the books. It was situated a little outside Castle Rock, behind a busy industrial estate. We’d taken one of their “household” storage sections—the largest available—and layered it with so many different spells that even a gnat wasn’t getting through. We’d also had a secondary fire- and flood-proof room built inside our unit, just to be doubly safe. While floods generally weren’t a problem in this area, fires could be, and the storage facility sat on the edge of what amounted to a wilderness area along an old train line.