Fair Game

mirror Dave’s cold, eager eyes met Charles’s as his lamprey mouth attached to Charles’s neck, cold and sharp, feeding on guilt. He disappeared from sight after a few minutes, but not from Charles’s senses as, one by one, the ghosts behind him did the same, until Charles stood apparently alone in front of the mirror and felt his ghosts gain strength from him while they weakened him. They didn’t touch him physically, not yet. But he knew that he wasn’t thinking as clearly, wasn’t able to trust his judgment anymore.
    On the other side of the wall, Anna moved restlessly. Not awake, but aware.
    He should close down his bond with her, again. He didn’t think any of his ghosts could cross it and touch her, but he wasn’t certain. He couldn’t bear it if he caused her harm.
    Equally, Charles couldn’tbear to be separated from her again.
    Anna’s cell phone rang and she grumbled as she fumbled around the unfamiliar nightstand for it.
    “Hello, this is Anna,” she said, her voice husky with sleep.
    He was too distracted to pay attention to the words of the person on the other end of the conversation. He listened to Anna, let her voice remind him that he hadn’t driven her away, hadn’t hurt her irreparably. Not yet.
    “Right now?” A pause. “Sure. We’re glad to be of assistance. Can you give me the address? No. Not necessary. There’s Wi-Fi here so I have the Internet. Just wait for me to find a sheet of paper.” She pulled something else off the table next to the bed—her purse, he thought from the sound of it. Charles looked away from the mirror.
    “Okay. Have pen and paper. Shoot.”
    He couldn’t go out and perform for the feds. Not like this. He would hurt someone, someone who didn’t deserve it.
    Use me,
said Brother Wolf.
If I stay with Anna, it will be safe for everyone. I will not harm any of the people. I will keep her safe from them.
    Which “them”?
Charles asked.
    FBI, killers, the dead. All of them and any of them. She will be safe—and so will the others. I will not hurt them unless I have to. Can you say the same?
    Charles almost smiled at the thought that Brother Wolf would be less dangerous than he, but at the moment it seemed to be true enough. Without another look in the mirror, he let the change take him: he would trust the wolf to keep her safe.
    “HOW LONG WILL it take you to get here?” Leslie Fisher’s voice was cool and professional, but her question had just a hint of urgency.
    A young woman was missing from her condo, though she hadn’t been gone long. Luckily, the policeman who’d gone to check it out had been briefed on their serial killer and thought it was a close enough match to the way other people had been taken to call in the FBI.
    There was something wrong with Charles. It had been nagging at Anna since she woke, but she’d already answered the phone. It didn’t feel urgent, just not good—so she decided to take care of the truly urgent matter first to get it out of the way. If it was their serial killer, they had a chance of getting to the girl before anything happened.
    “How far is the apartment from the hotel we were at”—it was two in the morning—”yesterday morning?” Charles hadn’t been in bed beside her, though she knew he was in the condo. She could feel him.
    “Ten-or fifteen-minute walk. Something like that. The victim’s apartment isn’t too far from the Commons.” Then Fisher clearly remembered that Anna and Charles weren’t from Boston. “The Boston Common. The big park a couple of blocks from the hotel.”
    After a day of sightseeing, Anna could have told Fisher how big the Common was and approximately how many people were buried in it and all about the ducks that inspired a famous children’s book.
    Their condo was less than a five-minute run from the hotel, and she and Charles could always take a taxi if the place they needed to get to was too far.
    “Less than fifteen minutes, then,” Anna told her.
    “Good,” said Fisher. “We’d appreciate anything you can do. Assuming this is our UNSUB, based on previous cases, she’s still alive and will be for a few more days.”
    “We’ll do our best.”
    Anna hung up the phone and began dragging on her clothes. “Charles? Did you hear? There’s a girl missing. Is Lizzie Beauclaire one of our werewolves? I don’t remember her name from the Olde Towne Pack roster.”
    Not that I know of.
It wasn’t Charles who answered.
    Anna paused, one foot off the ground as