Fair Game

bright and shiny new.
    Beauclaire was standing in the center of the foundation, his eyes closed and his lips moving. Charles was pretty sure he was working some magic, but with the feel of the blood magic that had already been done here clogging his senses, he couldn’t tell.
    Along the perimeter of the clearing, Malcolm trailed after the FBI agents, who were busily using their flashlights to examine the ground for clues or a trail.
    “We’ll have to come back in daylight with a team,” Goldstein said, and there was a hard edge to his voice. “We shouldn’t be tromping around here at night; we’re going to miss or destroy clues.”
    “You aren’t going to get Beauclaire to leave without his daughter,” said Leslie. Then she glanced back at the werewolf behind them and stepped a little closer to Goldstein.
    Charles took a good look at Malcolm himself. “Malcolm,” he said sharply.
    The bearded werewolf looked up. “You told me to watch them.”
    Isaac had been in a low-voiced conversation with his witch, but when Charles spoke he looked over, too.
    “Malcolm?” he asked, his voice too gentle.
    The other wolf sighed and drifted a little farther away from the FBI agents, but also shifted his body language from stalker to bodyguard. Charles wasn’t sure that the humans could consciously read body language well enough to tell the difference, but their hindbrains could. As soon as Malcolm started to behave himself, Leslie’s shoulders relaxed and she quit patting her thigh with her right hand.
    Isaac left the witch kneeling beside the chains, her fingers tracing spells that left little red glowing lines behind them.
    “Hally says that there were ten or twelve people killed here over aperiod of years,” he told Charles. “She says that she’ll gather some of her apprentices and they’ll put the island to rights after the police have gathered their evidence. She’s doing what she can now. We don’t want a herd of armed people in a place that has such a strong dark magic residue—the words ‘accidental shootings’ don’t even begin to cover the disasters that could spring up.”
    “Good,” said Charles. That was one less thing for him to worry about. “Any sign of Lizzie?”
    “Not right here. No one alive but us and some rabbits within hearing range, and there aren’t any trails into or out of this place. I can’t smell anyone but us in the vicinity. Maybe if I were in wolf form, I could do better.”
    “We’ll all change to hunt for the girl—except Malcolm, if he can help it,” Charles said.
    “I can help it.” Malcolm sounded a little put out to be left behind.
    “We need you to be able to take us back to the mainland in a hurry when we find Lizzie,” Charles explained. “She’s going to need medical attention as soon as possible. It’s not just guard duty.”
    “You believe Lizzie is here,” Beauclaire said sharply, leaving off his spell casting. “Can you smell her? Do you have proof?”
    Charles waved his hand at the stone. “They have used this place to kill all of their local victims once they are through with them. Do you think that they found a better place than this isolated and quarantined island to keep their victims while they are still alive?”
    The fae stared at him, his face hungry. “How do you propose finding her? If she were here, I would be able to find her. But my magic doesn’t tell me anything. It hasn’t from the beginning.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought it meant that she was dead.”
    “I know a few ways to stymie fae magic,” said the witch without pausing in whatever she was doing to the granite stone. “The Irish and German witches are well-known for their ability to disrupt your kind ofpower, one way or another, and Caitlin told me that this guy got his rune spell from an Irish witch. There’s a dozen ways to make charms that I know, some more effective than others.”
    Beauclaire looked at her, face taut with hope. “There are,” he said. “There are indeed.”
    Isaac started stripping off his clothes and so did Anna. Charles moved until he stood between them in answer to a small fit of territoriality and unfounded jealousy. Brother Wolf was feeling possessive tonight.
    Not bothering to take off his jeans, he began his change. It was harder this time because he’d been changing a lot today, and the last time he’d pushed for speed. His shift was slower and it hurt more, leaving him with the dull ache in his bones