Did that kind of thing actually happen? “Huh. Good for her, I say.”
“I know, right? That’s what I told the principal.”
“At least tell me the skirt flipper got detention, too.”
“Yes. That’s the only reason I’m not going nuclear on them.”
“Well, I say give her a cape and a mask and let her go. But other than that there’s nothing … weird going on, right? No strangers lurking around, no bad vibes.”
“No?” she said, but didn’t sound sure. Probably because I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.
“Okay. Will you call me if you see anything, you know, weird?”
“Like werewolf weird?” she said.
“Yeah, I think.” Time to wrap this up before I scared her. “Sorry. Gotta run. Love you.”
“Okay, you, too—”
I clicked off, then called Shaun again. Still no answer. I tried Becky next. She was another longtime member of our pack, a tough woman I could usually count on to know what was up.
No answer.
I left a message, sent a text, then tried another of the werewolves. The numbers for everyone in my pack were on my phone, and I went down the whole list. No one answered, no one texted back. Maybe everyone was having a hoedown while the alphas were away. Then I tried New Moon again. Still no answer. I had to consciously slow down my breathing.
“Kitty?” Ben murmured. He’d been napping in the Jeep’s passenger seat.
“Nobody’s answering. New Moon isn’t answering. There’s something wrong.”
“There’s a logical explanation.” His sureness was forced. “Maybe you just caught everyone at a bad time. What is it, six in the morning?”
Almost everyone kept phones nearby. Someone would answer, even at the crack of dawn.
Cormac glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “We’re still two hours out of Denver; we can’t do anything about it right now. Just hold on.”
Ben reached back and held my hand. “I’m sure there’s a logical reason why no one’s answering their phones.”
“I can think of several,” I said flatly. “All bad.” I squeezed his hand back. The touch helped.
When my phone rang about a half an hour later, I jumped, flinching so hard I banged my knees on the back of the front seats. Hardly noticed, because I was too busy grabbing my phone, looking to see who had finally called back. Shaun, I hoped.
Caller ID said Detective Hardin. The other car had fallen an hour or two behind us. Tin
a was hopped up on painkillers and they were taking it slowly to avoid her getting motion sickness. I answered, hoping she hadn’t gotten seriously sick.
“Detective, what is it?” I asked, gripping the phone hard enough my fingers hurt.
She took a deep breath. I imagined that was the same kind of deep breath she took before telling someone their loved one had been in an accident. “Kitty. I just got a call from one of the patrol officers.”
“Something happened,” I said simply. It couldn’t be anything else.
She said, “There’s been a fire at New Moon.”
Chapter 8
IT HAD to have been more than a fire, the way one of the brick walls was blown out. There must have been an explosion. Debris fanned out, and the remaining structure looked like it had had a bite taken out of it. Inside was gutted, blackened, covered in ash. Smashed glass and shards of wood and metal had settled like a postapocalyptic snow. Furniture was in shambles. The air smelled smoky and sour, the reek of soot settling in the back of my throat. If I started coughing, I’d never stop. The New Moon sign, simple letters with a painted crescent moon, had disappeared—fallen, destroyed. The place didn’t have a name anymore. It all seemed so stark in the sunlight.
We’d had a fire before, a couple of years ago. Tina and her Paradox PI crew had been there for that one. We’d been able to clean it up and reopen fairly quickly after. This—I didn’t think we’d be getting over this. This wasn’t a bar anymore, it was the set for a horror movie I wasn’t interested in seeing.