“I can’t promise to let you work above the law and you know it. And I only have oversight of so much. The only reason I know about the thing in Franklinton is that I’d been in contact with their office during our investigation into your pack last month. They have a small enough force out there that they remembered me mentioning you and sent this my way as a courtesy. Without that we’d have had no warning at all about this.”
I sighed and resisted the urge to bash my head against the table. He was right. His attention to detail and over-involvement were the only reason I currently knew Deerling was alive. I couldn’t put human lives at risk though. If something happened to Bryce because he nosed his way into this and got himself or some of his fellow officers killed in the process, I’d never forgive myself.
And given my current track record, they’d probably just come back to life with a desire to kill me. Sort of how things were going for me lately.
“I will keep you in the loop, but if you can, please try not to engage them. Mercy and Deerling were both werewolves when they were alive, and that means they will likely still have that strength. A werewolf who has no concern for human life is more dangerous than I can explain. What Deerling did to that security guard, that wasn’t even a surface scratch of what he’s capable of. He could tear a human man apart limb from limb. So could Mercy.”
“So could you, I’m guessing.”
“I’ve never tested the theory.”
“Good.” He rocked back on the chair, folding his hands on his stomach and looking at Wilder and I with an expression that gave absolutely nothing away. I wanted to ask what he was thinking, but at the same time I didn’t want to know. I probably wasn’t going to like it.
“I will do what I can to give you the room you need to resolve this as a pack matter. But if your mother or Deerling are seen in public areas putting human lives at risk again, all bets are off. I will also do my best to explain to outside law enforcement why they should limit engagement with these people, but I can’t guarantee they’re going to understand. I mean how do you explain something like the undead without people thinking of zombies?”
“There are no such things as zombies,” I assured him.
He scoffed. “Okay, you can say that with a straight face, and that’s cool, but I watched the dead walk the streets of New York on CNN just like everyone else. And I’m sitting across a kitchen table from a werewolf. Last night I had to issue a citation to a vampire. These are not normal things. These aren’t activities I thought I’d ever participate in. So, you can tell me there are no such thing as zombies, but you’re doing it in the same conversation where you told me your beheaded mother and a man who was shot in the face have both come back from the dead and want to kill you.” He gave a little shrug. “Maybe you can understand why I think a bunch of regular beat cops might have trouble making the distinction.”
“I don’t even know how to explain it to myself, to be honest.”
Bryce nodded. “Well, all right then. Good enough for me.”
He pushed himself up to his feet and offered me his hand, which I rose to shake in dumbfounded silence. “I’ll be in touch soon, but I hope you keep your word and loop me in if you learn anything new. I can only help people if you help me.”
I smiled. “I can promise to include you when I think it’s safe, and update information when I have it.”
“The best I can ask for, I suppose.”
After he showed himself out I moved into the living room and flopped down on one of my couches, burying my head in the plush cushions and letting out a muffled scream until my lung were empty and I felt at least a little bit unburdened. When I sat up again, Wilder was standing in front of the TV with his hands in his pockets, waiting quietly for me to finish.
“Get your bag packed,” I said grimly. “Don’t bring anything nice, pack rubber boots if you’ve got them, and for the love of all that is holy, make sure you bring bug repellent.”
“It’s November.”
“Yeah, and where we’re going the bugs don’t give a shit about your calendar.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Maurepas swamp falls roughly halfway between New Orleans and St. Francisville, so I was very familiar with the route to get there, having driven between the city and Callum’s compound about a million times over the last few years.
Still, with my new mission
in mind it felt as if Wilder and I were heading into the great unknown, a scary unexplored dead zone, rather than a place I had spent the formative years of my coming of age.
I tried initially to make small talk, but after about fifteen minutes I found myself unable to fake a cheerful attitude and put the radio on instead. Some pop ballad bopped, and the lean trees zipped past in a blur of green and brown. My mind went blank, something I was all too grateful for.
“Who do you think did it?” Wilder turned down the radio.
“The curse?” I wanted to turn the volume back up and stay lost a while longer, but we’d soon be approaching our destination, and it was probably best I focused again, even if I didn’t want to.
“Yeah.”
“Was it you?” I glanced over at him, smirking.
“I’ve cursed you more than once, Princess, especially when you’re driving me nuts, but no, I can’t say this one was my doing.”
“That’s good to know, thanks.”