Wolfsbane: Aspect of the Wolf (3 page)

"So what
does
he look like?"

Emilie rummaged in her grandmother's antique cookie jar for a chocolate chip ripple to go with her tea. She chewed thoughtfully before answering. “Tall."

"Compared to you, every guy is tall."

"Nicely tall. Hunky. Hot. Very intense eyes. Compelling..."

The thought still bothered her that one long look from Daniel Garrison had left her nearly tongue-tied and ready to agree to anything he asked. She pictured him the first time she'd seen him, with his three-piece suit and embossed leather briefcase, addressing the Mayor of Cypress Park at the monthly town meeting—
"Chester Creek nearly destroyed this town,"
he'd said.
"Are we going to allow more of his ilk to run amok here?"

There. That image effectively drove away any warm fuzzies she'd begun to feel for the man who desperately wanted to save his brother.

"Buff?” Charlotte asked.

"Bodybuilder buff. But not—you know—scary about it. Anyway, that's not the point. He doesn't trust magick and I can't see how he can trust me."

"Well, I can understand that, considering you promised not to tell anyone about his problem and you're on the phone in less than eight hours, yakking to me about it."

Emilie dangled a bag of oolong into her teacup. “Well, considering you're a thousand miles away, and I need someone to give me some werewolf advice, I'm not going to let it bother me. I told him this wasn't a one-person job. I want to call all the girls, but that would freak him out. Can you send me the book I need?"

"I'm wrapping it in plain brown paper as we speak, sweetie."

"Thanks. I'm going to dig around in Grandma's old trunks and see if I can find that wolfsbane amulet she had. Do you know what might have happened to it?"

"Ah ... if it's anywhere, it's with her medicine stones. Be careful if you find it, though. That stuff will give you one hell of a rash."

"I'll be careful."

"And watch out for this guy, too, Em.” Charlotte's tone sobered and Emilie braced for the lecture. Too many men had hurt Charlotte over the years for her not to take a moment to warn her cousin about the potential pitfalls of the slightest romantic entanglement. “Maybe he's all dreamy-eyed now because he wants something from you, but leopards don't change their spots. He wanted you out of town once. Don't assume because he wants you to wax his broomstick that he's gotten over his heebie-jeebies about people like us."

Emilie's head fell into her hand. “Charl! I'm not going to—ohmyGOD,
'wax his broomstick.
’”

"So you say now. I mean hey—I'm all for mixing it up. You want to have sex with him, go ahead. But that's all. Don't let him get to you."

"I'm absolutely not going to have sex with Daniel Garrison, Charl. I don't even like him."

"Famous last words.” Charlotte humpfed and the teakettle whistled. “I'm heading to the post office right now. You'll get the book tomorrow."

"Thanks, Charl. For everything."

Daniel marked his calendar on Monday morning, as he did every day. Usually he ticked off days until an important meeting with a client or days left for Christmas shopping, but now he ticked off days until the next full moon. He'd heard nothing from Emilie Swanson since Saturday—except for a message on his office machine, thanking him for arranging the plumber.

He told himself he was anxious to finish the hocus-pocus and return Vance to normal, but the truth itched at the back of his brain. He wanted to see Emilie again.

He thought about dropping by her shop today, just to see how things were going, maybe buy a candle or something. She'd probably think he was checking up on her.

He poured himself an industrial strength cup of coffee and stared at the calendar.

"You're looking pensive this morning,” Vance said, startling him out of his reverie. His brother looked rather well for having woken up naked next to the lily pond three nights earlier.

Daniel poured another cup of java as Vance took a seat at the kitchen table. “Just keeping tabs on the witch."

"The witch? That sounds ominous.” Vance smirked and waggled his eyebrows as he sipped the hot brew.

"It's her job description, not a snide remark. We've got twenty-three days until you—"

"Shhh!” Vance gave his brother a severe look. “Beth is asleep upstairs."

"I didn't hear her come in last night."

"We got in about 4:00 this morning. Spent the evening by the lake after we finished house-hunting."

"Is she going to hang around today? We don't know when Emilie will be coming by."

"Don't worry. Beth has plans this afternoon with her grandmother or something. She'll be gone before noon, but I want to let her sleep in."

"Too late for that, sweetie.” A head of flaxen-blonde hair appeared around the kitchen doorway, followed by Bethany's slim form wrapped in one of Vance's gray sweatshirts.

She scrunched up her bare toes as she crossed the terra cotta tiles of the kitchen floor and grabbed a coffee cup from the rack. “What's all the hush-hush about this morning? Don't tiptoe around on my account.” She smiled up at Daniel and sidled past him.

Vance pushed back his chair so Bethany could snuggle on his lap. Their faces fused in a kiss that fogged up Vance's wire-rimmed glasses.

"Morning, Beth,” Daniel said. “Sorry if we woke you."

"It doesn't matter what time I go to bed, Daniel. I can't sleep past eight no matter what."

Vance gave him a pointed glance over the top of Bethany's rumpled curls. Point taken. Clam up about Emilie for now.

"Well, those of us who actually have to commute to work better get moving. Have a nice day, you two. Vance, I'll check in later."

"Bye, bro. Chill a little, okay? You work too hard."

Daniel rolled his eyes. Bethany waved, then wrapped herself around Vance again. Daniel left the house without a second glance from either of them.

As he walked across the lawn toward his car, he scooped up the morning paper. The headline of the
Cypress Express
immediately caught his eye—

DANGER LURKING IN OAK HAVEN PARK.

Late night jogger reports encounter with rabid dog.

A quick scan of the copy confirmed his fears. Someone had seen Vance in wolf form before Daniel reached him. The man hadn't been injured, but the encounter scared him enough to go to the police. The final paragraph of the article assured residents that the mayor had authorized extra police patrols in the park.

Daniel sighed and climbed into his car, tossing the paper across the front seat. He thought of the windowless basement room where Vance had spent two of his three-night curse this month. The steel padlock had been torn from the hinges, bent with an otherworldly strength. If Daniel hadn't found his grandfather's grimoire and hastily fashioned the holding spell for the silver chain, Vance might have hurt someone. And if Emilie Swanson didn't come up with a cure in twenty-three days or less, he'd have to consider more drastic measures to keep Vance safe during the next full moon.

He definitely needed to stop by Mystikal Excursions and check on her progress, whether she liked it or not.

"There's no way this is going to work.” Emilie shut the spell book that Charlotte had overnighted to her and rested her chin in her hand. She sifted through a number of other references that she'd spread out across the counter and shook her head. “Where am I going to get the blood of a purebred wolf these days? It's not like I can just call up the county zoo. There's got to be a better way."

Quiet and sunny, the empty shop made no reply. Emilie gathered her paperwork and stacked it on the shelf beneath the counter. She rearranged the office supplies that occupied the same shelf and made a mental list of other sources to try for information on werewolf banishing, shapeshifters, curses and magickal cures.

When she rose, Daniel Garrison was staring down at her, looking devastatingly handsome in his navy suit and power tie. Her heart gave a strange flutter when he fixed her with that deep gaze of his.

"You move like a cat,” she said. “I didn't hear you come in.” She made a mental note to get a bigger set of bells for the front door.

"Sorry. I wanted to see how things were going."

"They're not."

"What do you mean?” He got that nervous look again, but this time Emilie couldn't bear to tease him.

"I have a lot more research to do before I try anything. The spells I've found so far all have nasty side effects if they're worked improperly.
And
some of them require ingredients you just can't get anymore."

"Like what? I told you, money isn't an issue."

She studied his earnest face. “It's not money. It's logistics.” She hoisted all her research material back up to the counter, spread out the papers, and pointed to the trouble spots. “This one requires a tooth from the werewolf that bit the victim. Your brother doesn't happen to have one of those, does he?"

"I don't think so."

She pointed to another spell. “This one requires the blood of a purebred wolf. It was written three hundred years ago—when they weren't endangered just about everywhere. So that's a no-go. This one ... well, this one just forget entirely."

"Why? What's wrong with that one?” Daniel slid the aged parchment from under the pile of papers.

Emilie winced. “That one requires the spell caster work skyclad."

"Naked?” Was there a smirk in his tone?

"Slashing, gnashing werewolf teeth, and naked little me don't mix."

He gave her an odd look, and she felt a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Put your mental picture book aside, Prince Charming. It isn't going to happen."

"I wasn't thinking about anything.” He held up his hands in surrender, but the corner of his lip twitched. “Can we hold this one in reserve for now?"

"It also requires branding the werewolf with a holy symbol. The victim will retain the scar. That, of course, will keep him immune to any further werewolf bites, but in the middle of his forehead, it might be a problem in the wedding photos."

"Crap."

"Don't lose all hope. I'm working on a spell of holding we can use to keep him—"

"Been there, done that.” Daniel pulled a silver chain from the interior pocket of his suit jacket and laid it on the counter. “I used this the other night to subdue him after he got out of a locked room."

Emilie picked up the chain. She immediately felt the power in the wide silver links. “This is good. Who made this for you?"

"I did."

"So what do you need me for?"

"This is all I've got. My grandfather dabbled. He had a few spells lying around."

"Your grandfather was a witch?"

"Not really."

"But he could spellcast?"

"Yeah."

"And you—"

"He was the black sheep of the family."

Emilie sighed. “I'm not even going to touch that. Could I see his material? If he had a holding spell that works on werewolves, maybe he had something to cure them."

"I'd have found it."

"Can I look anyway?"

"Sure. Why don't you come by tonight? You can meet Vance and I'll show you what I have."

Emilie nodded. Her frustration level had reached a new peak. “Mighta mentioned this sooner, you know."

"Well, it didn't work all that well. We tried the chain before he transformed and it burned—he couldn't wear it. When he was in wolf form, it seemed to weaken him enough so he passed out, but it didn't cause him to transform back any faster."

"This is strong. I can feel it. It needs a little tweaking, but it's a good place to start. It might give us the extra time we need to work out the cure."

"He and his fiancée are getting ready to move in together."

"Well, unless he's prepared to tell her what's going on, that might have to wait.” Emilie gave him a long look and once again found herself floating into the azure depths of his eyes. She shook herself back to reality. “How about I come by around eight tonight?"

"That's fine. Do you like Thai? I could pick up some dinner on the way—"

The sound came like a gunshot, followed by the crystalline rain of glass from the front plate-glass window. Emilie ducked instinctively, clutching her protection amulet. When she looked up, she saw Daniel race for the door and fling it open. While he looked up and down the street for the culprit, Emilie surveyed the damage.

A hole the size of a fist interrupted the Mystikal Excursions logo, obliterating the “A.” Amid the shards of glass littering the floor in front of the counter lay a smooth gray stone about half the size of a baseball.

"Are you all right?” Daniel asked when he returned. She saw the concern in his eyes, and for a moment, she felt like she'd known him forever.

Charlotte's words came back to her, though.
Watch out for him.

She nodded and sighed. After rounding the counter, she bent to retrieve the stone.

"Be careful of the glass,” he warned. “I didn't see anyone outside. In fact, the street is empty."

"Not surprising,” she said, rising with the stone in her hand. Vibrations of the fear and hatred that had gone into the act hummed through the chunk of granite.

For a moment, when their eyes met, Daniel looked uncertain. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but she cut him off.

"This won't be the last time."

"Do you have any cardboard and duct tape? I'll close up the hole. After you call the police, I'll help you find someone to repair the glass."

She grabbed a dustpan and brush from under the counter and knelt to sweep up the glass. “I'll take care of it. You should probably get back to work."

"I'm sorry about this.” He sounded sincere, but Charlotte's warnings echoed. He'd worked so hard to get her business shut down, why would he be sorry now?

"It happens. I can handle it. If I couldn't, I'd have given up this life a long time ago."

A low, hollow moan drifted from the back room.

Emilie rolled her eyes. “We'd
both
better get back to work.” She waited a beat, picked up the broken glass in the dustpan and slid it into the wastebasket.