Blood Trail

room and the phone.

    The evening had passed unnoticed while she'd been comparing lists of names. The sun, a disk so huge and red and clearly defined against the sky that it looked fake, trembled on the edge of the horizon. Vicki checked her watch. 8:33. Thirty-five minutes to sunset. Thirty-five minutes to Henry.

    He said his arm would be healed by tonight so maybe he and Celluci could stake out that tree together and she could get Peter to drive in and pick her up. She snickered at the vision that idea presented as she sat down in the armchair and flicked on one of the lights. She'd definitely had too much coffee.

    The surnames of eleven Olympic shooters had matched with members in the local clubs.
    Time for the next step.

    "Hello, Mrs. Scott? My name is Terri Hanover, I'm a writer, and I 'm doing an article on Olympic contestants. I was wondering if you were related to a Brian Scott who was a member of the Canadian rifle team at the '76 Olympics in Montreal? No? But you went to Montreal. ...
    That's very interesting but, unfortunately, I really need to talk to the contestants themselves."
    Vicki stifled a sigh. "Sorry to bother you. Good night."

    One down. Ten to go. Lies to get at truth.

    Hi, there. My name is Vicki Nelson and I'm a private investigator. Have you or any members of your family been shooting werewolves?

    She pushed her glasses up her nose and punched in the next number without any real hope of success.

    For Henry the moment of sunset came like the moment between life and death. Or perhaps, death and life. One instant he wasn't. The next, awareness began to lift the shroud of day from his senses. He lay still, listening to his heartbeat, his breathing, the rustle of the sheet against the hairs on his chest as his lungs filled and emptied. He felt the weave of the fabric beneath him, the mattress beneath that, the bed beneath both. The scent of wer wiped out even the scent of self but, all things considered, that didn't surprise him. Redefined for another night, he opened his eyes and sat up, extending his senses beyond his sanctuary.

    Vicki wasn't in the house. Mike Celluci was.

    Wonderful. Why hadn't she gotten rid of him? And for that matter, where was she?

    He flexed his arm and peered down at the patch of new skin along the top of his shoulder.
    Although still a little tender, the flesh dimpled where the new muscle fiber had yet to add bulk, the wound had essentially healed. The day had given him back his strength and the hunger had faded to a whisper he could easily ignore.

    As he dressed, he considered Detective-Sergeant Celluci. The wer had obviously accepted him, for Henry could feel no fear or anger in his sensing of the mortal. While he still thought that burning the memory of the wer and the witnessed change out of Celluci's mind was the safest plan, he couldn't make a decision without knowing how things had progressed over the course of the day. He wished he knew what suspicions the man harbored about him, what he'd said to Vicki last night, and what Vicki had said in return.

    "Only one way to find out." He threw open the door and stepped out into the hall. Mike Celluci was in the kitchen. He'd join him there.

    Just before the sun slid below the horizon, Storm leapt the fence behind the barn and using the fence bottom as cover, moved away from the house. If his uncle saw him, he'd call him back.
    If Rose saw him, she'd demand an explanation of where he thought he was going without her.
    Both would mean disaster so he used every trick he'd learned in stalking prey to stay hidden.
    It didn't matter how long it took, the human would wait for him. He was sure of that. His ears flattened and his eyes gleamed. The human would get more than he bargained for.

    "No luck?"

    "No." Vicki rubbed her eyes and sighed. "And I've about had it for tonight. I don't think I can face those lists again without at least twelve hours sleep."

    "No reason why you should," Bertie told her, clearing away the sandwich plates. "And it's not like it's an emergency or anything. Surely those people can keep their dogs tied up for a few days."

    "It's not that simple."

    "Why not?"

    "Because it never is." A facetious explanation, but she didn't have a better one. Even if she'd been able to discuss it, Vicki doubted she could do justice to the territorial imperatives of the wer - not when it involved such incredibly stupid actions as presenting oneself as a target. She checked her watch and dug another