Wolf for Hire

Chapter Forty Four

Outside, the low hum of distant machinery filled the air. Inside, the only sound was the rusty old fan grinding on dry bearings. The remains of a workshop, once used to repair vehicles and other equipment, now derelict, still smelled faintly of burnt oil and rubber.

What additional illumination we had came from the sodium lamp outside, spilling in through the cracked door window and the gap beneath the warped sheetmetal wall. Most of the overhead lights were dead, either having burnt out or recently knocked loose, leaving just one flickering bar above us.

Yet, meager as the lighting was, Eugene stood fully cast in shadow.

Because I loomed over him.

Having gone from a hunch to a properly straight back, I was now a head taller than the detective. Along with Coy and Boden, who were still playing the role of shoulder companion—creating the illusion that I had three heads.

All the better to stare him down.

Eugene had reflexively taken a step back when I approached—either because I struck an intimidating pose, or because he knew what Boden's tongue would do if he got too close—only to find his back pressed against the wall. His expression walked the line between startled and trying not to show it.

But now he was being reminded that I could still be a big bad wolf if the fancy ever struck me.

Not that that was my goal.

I was just less concerned about niceties and more concerned about the fact that we were sitting ducks in a glorified tin can while a hungry chimera circled outside, with Eugene meanwhile insisting we stay and continue our investigation without giving me a clear reason as to why.

So, if Eugene wanted to play coy and keep his cards close to his chest, then I was just going to play all of mine.

Eugene started, "Look, it's com—"

"Complicated?" I cut him off, letting the word hang in the air like a dare. "Then let me simplify things."

I stepped in closer, casually invading his personal space, leaving him trapped between a wall and a furry place. I kept my voice low and deliberate. "That chimera could break in at any moment—and it's a goddamn wonder it hasn't already. We are not taking another step away from that Slip until you give me a good reason why."

I jabbed a clawed thumb toward the broom closet turned death trap beside us. The door was shut now, but Eugene had left it unlocked—learning from his previous mistake. Leaving our exit open.

Which I had every intention of using.

Despite the sensitivity of my dog-eared array, I hadn't picked up even the faintest noise from our Sylvester Stallion. No trilling. No hoofbeats. Not even a snort.

The silence was more unnerving than any sound it could make.

For something that big to go so quiet?

"So, here's the deal," I said. "Either you tell me the whole story—who we're really after—or I'm hauling your ass through the Slip with me. And don't think our pact is going to stop me, either."

I didn't make the threat lightly. I understood the pact. I knew how it worked—and more importantly, how to break it.

I turned to Nevermore. "Tell me if I'm wrong, but I think this qualifies as one of your escape clauses."

Nevermore, perched on Eugene's shoulder, whispered in his ear. "Daresay she has you there."

Nevermore had explained the mechanics of the pact to both Eugene and me when we first made it. That, in order for it to take hold, both Eugene and I had to agree to its terms—and mean it.

Like, actually want to work together.

Most of Nevermore's so-called ritual had been designed to facilitate that mindset. And once we'd reached it and the pact formed, that state of mind was—for lack of a better term—saved.

Like a mental checkpoint.

If either of us tried to break the pact—whether through intent or negligence—it would reassert that original mindset. Like an annoying little angel on your shoulder, reminding you of the promise you made.

Nevermore had claimed this was better than the older methods of forming pacts—the kind that bound your will or just straight-up killed you if you violated them. This version relied on our own convictions to keep us in line.

Less traumatic, as he put it.

It also meant we wouldn't drop dead from violating some obscure clause we didn't understand, or from accidentally letting an important secret slip mid-conversation. That was a failure mode he considered to be... unsustainable.

But that meant the pact was weaker too. Because it was built on conviction, instead of blood, we could still break it off if one of us truly believed the pact's founding principles had been violated—or if our lives were in danger. The escape clause, so to speak. One triggered by either a sense of righteous indignation or basic self-preservation.

And right now, I was feeling a bit of both.

So while I couldn't quite bring myself to slap him for being an ass, I could absolutely find it in myself to haul him through that Slip—kicking and screaming—before he got either of us killed.

Nevermore hopped down to the table and gave Eugene a pointed look. "I'd recommend taking Virginia's proposal seriously. You are, after all, collaborating with a werewolf—it would be unwise to test her patience."

You're one to talk, Nevermore, I thought, seeing as to how it was his idea that I work with Eugene to start with.

He straightened his wings and added, more gently, "I know it was agreed that we leave personal details out of this, yes—but given how the circumstances have changed, I believe she has the right to know."

I stood back, fixing Eugene with a look, waiting for him to speak.

He sighed, taking a little time before answering. "If I tell you, you must agree to keep it to yourself."

Turning toward Nevermore, he added: "Consider this part of our pact's Assurance of Mutual Well-Being. The more who know who she is, the more danger she and her family are in."

"Very well," said Nevermore.

I crossed my arms. "Fine by me."

Eugene dropped his gaze and took a deep breath. "Her name is Nora. She's a little more than five years old, and she was abducted from a suburb outside Philadelphia almost two months ago—during which her mother was also attacked and put in the hospital."

Okay, Progress. A little darker than I was expecting, but at least Eugene was finally talking. A good start, but that still didn't answer all of my questions.

"So, you were hired to find her?" I asked.

"Hired? No." He shook his head. "I took this case for more personal reasons."

Now it was my turn to sigh—more a growl of exasperation. "Would you stop beating around the bush and get to the—"

"—Nora is my niece," he said, interrupting me.

I stared at him for a long second, and then looked away.

"I see," was all I could muster.

I wasn't sure what else to say. All that steam boiling up inside me—the pressure that had pushed me to corner Eugene—just seemed to dissipate.

It wasn't that I was looking for a reason to ditch everything and abandon Eugene. Nor was I looking for a reason to be mad at him.

I just wanted things to make sense.

I wanted there to be some logic to all this—not just the case I was helping Eugene with, but everything else. My lycanthropy. The disaster I'd made of life. All of it.

Hell, I was supposed to be pet-sitting. Yet now, I was somehow neck-deep in a sting operation for a counter-enchantment agency.

Some things I could make sense of: why I'd been kicked from my apartment. Why my car had been repo'd. Why, despite chasing a real career in accounting, I still found myself back at the same Starbucks I worked at in high school.

It all boiled down to numbers. Whether it was money, the cost of living, or the liability of hiring an employee with a criminal record—it was all just a game of numbers.

And numbers made sense.

Magic did not.

Or at least, not without effort. You had to make it make sense. Wrap your head around it in a constant act of mental gymnastics.

And it was giving me a headache.

But this? Eugene sticking his neck out for his niece? Or even wanting to bring the ones who hurt his sister to justice?

That made sense.

And it struck a chord deep within me. Because I knew what it was like to feel protective of someone small—someone you'd do anything for.

I just had to swap out Nora for my kid sister, Michelle—and suddenly, it all clicked.

Chelley, as I called her, was more than a decade younger than me. We didn't share the same mother, but we shared everything else. And from the moment she could walk, she stuck to me like a second shadow.

When I was younger, I used to help her collect insects and lizards in jars—though never spiders. She had to catch those herself.

When she was barely older than Nora, she'd ask me to read to her at night—because Dad and Katherine were too tired, Sarah was always on the phone with friends, and Michael was busy yelling at some kid in a game.

So that left me.

Sometimes we'd watch a movie on my laptop, and she'd fall asleep beside me. Eventually, her bed became the top bunk. And even after she got her own room—when Michael left for college and then the military—she always found reasons to crash in mine.

I'd braid her curls—golden and unruly like her mom's—and she'd comb my dark, too-straight hair with her hands, enjoying how it would flow through her fingers.

It was because of Chelley that I knew I wanted to be a mom someday. To raise a little girl like her—but maybe this time without all the baggage and half-hidden landmines of our family life.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

So yeah—if Chelley had been the one taken? I'd have lost it. Plain and simple.

But now Eugene's actions started to make sense.

It was never really about Kirkland. Or the Puppeteer. They were just obstacles—in the way of what really mattered to him.

He wouldn't hesitate to take a Slip if it brought him closer to finding his family.

But retreat? Give up the chase?

Not a chance.

That kind of focus—that desperation—was something I understood all too well. That single-minded determination. The kind that blinded you to the bigger picture. That pushed you into undertakings you weren't ready for—out of pride or fear that no one else would step up.

Despite evidence to the contrary, I could be a self-aware wolf at least once in a blue moon.

Oh fuck me, I thought, pinching my brow, realizing the hard truth.

I'd thought Eugene was being obtuse. Careless. Maybe even incompetent. But that wasn't it at all.

He was just in over his head.

Just like me.

Which, in its own way, was just as dangerous.

And I wasn't the only one who could relate. Even the wolf got it. She didn't need words to recognize loyalty—or what it meant to protect your own. She who had crossed an entire city for a single misplaced packmate.

I couldn't fault him for caring about his family. But we couldn't afford to be sloppy—not with me in the mix. Not now that I knew what Eugene was after.

If he was in too deep, then I had to be the one to pull us back on track.

I took a slow breath, lifting my gaze again.

"Okay," I said, keeping my voice even. "Let's rewind a bit. If you thought Kirkland took her—why? For personal revenge? A ransom?"

He blinked, surprised by the sudden change in tone. But answered anyway.

"All I know is that Kirkland was present during the abduction. I identified his mana—his magical signature—at the scene. That and he disappeared right after it all happened, along with several of his caches. Resources he saves for emergencies."

As he spoke, Eugene sagged, sliding down the wall until he seated himself on the floor.

Guess the facade was gone.

I frowned. "So it looks like he ran."

Eugene nodded. "That, and I haven't just been following Kirkland. Nora has a powerful magic signature of her own, and their two paths align."

I tilted my head. "Nora has her mother's magic talents?"

"And then some," Eugene said. "Her abilities are currently in their nascent state, making her quite easy to track."

"Nascent?" I asked. "I take it you mean 'recently acquired'?"

"Basically. But there's more to it than that," he said.

Eugene paused, eyes flicking upward.

"Do you remember that analogy I made earlier, about the child with the ability to create fire with their mind?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

"That's a commonality for most individuals who awaken their abilities at a young age. Children have powerful imaginations, yet typically lack the ability to regulate their emotions. And in this nascent state—when their abilities first awaken—they can be extraordinarily dangerous and unpredictable.

"But she's still a child—still very impressionable. Powerful, yes, but easy to manipulate. And if someone found out about her—some cult or nefarious mage—then she, and everyone around her, could be in danger.

"You see," he added, "magic can be a gift, but it can also be a curse if someone wishes to exploit it."

I didn't like where this was going. It was starting to sound less like a theory and more like a pattern. The idea that someone would abduct a stranger because of their magical potential?

Or, in my case, an affinity for magic?

It felt like there was a connection.

"And this is what you believe happened?" I asked. "That someone found out about Nora and wanted to use her powers?"

"Yes," he said. "Which is why many mages typically try to hide their abilities from the eyes of others."

"Unless you're a detective that doesn't care if he shows up on social media?" I raised a brow.

"Mine aren't sufficient to warrant the effort," he said plainly. "I'm just a practitioner. I don't have the talent to even be considered a mage."

"What's the difference?" I asked.

"A matter of capacity. To simply practice magic makes you a practitioner, but not necessarily a mage. What I do is manipulate pre-existing forces of magic. Anyone with sufficient training can do what I do."

And somehow I doubt that, I thought. But hey, what did I know? I was only just coming into my abilities as well.

"Mages," Eugene continued, "are those whose talents go beyond simple manipulation—those who can reshape and transform the forces of magic around them, warping matter and energy to their will.

"While I can temporarily negate the effects of gravity on you and a few dogs, I can't toss cars around like softballs. I can hear you when you project your thoughts, but I can't read your mind, or force ideas into it. With my divination, I can discern things invisible to the naked eye, but I can't discern the future."

"And mages can?" I asked.

"There is no limit to what a mage can do. Their only limitation is that their abilities tend to be more limited in scope—often niche or specialized. Whereas a practitioner like me tends to be more of a jack-of-all-trades. Quality versus Quantity."

"So where does Nora's specialty lie? I'm assuming all this conjecture is meant to suggest that Nora is a mage."

"Yes," Eugene said. "Nora has the makings of a mage, but her powers haven't matured yet. They are still nascent. Still malleable."

"Huh. Sooo... she can be whatever she wants to be?"

"With the right guidance, her abilities will be able to form naturally. Or, they can be forced to take a particular shape. Throughout history, great mages would comb the world for pupils with such potential. Would pay fortunes or slay anyone that got in their way. Today they typically rely on human trafficking."

I didn't know which part disturbed me more—the fact that he said it so plainly, or that it made a terrifying amount of sense.

I frowned. "Why are mages so desperate to teach other if they're also concerned with secrecy?"

"It's less about the teaching and more about the indoctrination. Remember, the more who believe in your magic, the more powerful it becomes. And instilling your teachings into someone so young and capable yields potent results."

"So you think this is why Kirkland kidnapped her," I said. "To take her as his pupil."

Eugene shook his head. "If he did, then that wouldn't explain why he went to such extremes."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean attacking my sister and placing a curse on her that almost left her comatose."

I caught the shift in Eugene's tone. There was anger simmering underneath it now, creeping into his voice.

Jesus Christ.

How much was he still not telling me?

And was this stoic detachment of his just some emotional sleight-of-hand?

"And you know this because of your history with Kirkland," I said.

Eugene nodded. "Not just with me, but my sister too. She knew him as well as I did. Maybe more. He would have known about Nora's abilities. So if he wished to sell her out, he could have made a fortune. But..."

"Who needs money when you have gifts like his?" I said, quoting Eugene from before.

He nodded again. "And that's basically all I have to go on. I've been following Kirkland and Nora's signatures down the East Coast ever since. That is, until I was attacked by a bunch of dogs. And then you and your familiars showed up."

"So I'm supposed to help you crack the case?" I asked. "Find Nora... and track down your old friend?"

"That," Eugene said, "and because I'm more than a little desperate now that I know more is at stake."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, you've seen the thralls. Sensed how their minds have been warped. Saw the monstrosity that horse was turned into."

"Yeah?"

"Magic like that, which twists the mind and the flesh, requires a twisted imagination in turn."

I could see the point he was trying to make. "You're afraid that someone like that intends to use Nora."

"If they haven't already," said Eugene.

I hated the image that conjured—Nora twisting creatures like that horse. Sticking pieces of them together. Creating her own My Little Franksteins.

I could feel it—feel that I'd stumbled upon yet another messed-up arcane affair.

I was already tangled up in whatever drama was slowly unfolding with Sandy and JT. The fact that Sandy had to leave for a "family emergency" right as all of this—whatever this was—was going down? That was starting to feel less and less like coincidence and more of an orchestration.

A witch who raised and cared for magical animals making herself scarce just before a bunch of magically altered pets were released into the city? Odd, to say the least.

And that was before even mentioning the fact that I'd somehow re-summoned her dead aunt Elenore's familiar, who was supposedly just some random spirit she'd bound by accident.

Said familiar who was now responsible for negotiating my involvement with Eugene.

Call it paranoia, or a desire to deflect blame from myself, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd been set up. Somehow.

At the very least, it was time to start throwing salt on everything I thought I knew. Maybe even toss on an entire brick of that overpriced pink Himalayan kind.

A thought struck me—this calling into questioning.

"You said you have a history with Kirkland," I began, "but was it always antagonistic?"

Eugene raised his head. "No. We used to be on good terms. One might even have called us friends. That was, of course, up until I had to arrest him."

"But you don't think he hates you enough to go after your family."

"Yeah. Or, at least, I find it hard to imagine." Eugene eyes met mine. "What's on your mind?"

"You think he ran, right? Took his caches and vanished. But that doesn't scream cleanup to me, at least not entirely."

Now it was my turn to pause, to figure out how to put my thoughts into words. "What if Kirkland didn't take Nora for some twisted experiment? What if he was trying to protect her?"

Eugene gave a tired sigh. "I've considered that. But again, he wouldn't have attacked my sister to do it."

"Wouldn't—or couldn't?" I asked.

He gave a shrug. "Column A. Column B."

So, now he was quoting me. Not exactly helpful, but at least he'd stopped pretending to have all the answers.

"Okay, but what if he wasn't the one who abducted Nora at all?"

That got a reaction. Eugene blinked, skeptical. "Then why would he be involved to begin with?"

"You said Kirkland was good at smuggling things. Disappearing when he needs to. And your sister knew this?"

"Better than most," he admitted.

It was a long shot. But people reached out to the devil they knew when their backs were to the wall—and Kirkland certainly seems like a lesser evil to me.

"Exactly," I said. "So maybe she asked him for help."

Eugene hesitated, the line between disbelief and consideration starting to blur. "I doubt that. She's on worse terms with Kirkland than I am."

"But if Nora's abilities had awakened. Not if she needed someone to help keep her hidden. Kirkland might be the man she'd call."

"If she were in any kind of danger... she would've told me."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "You said Nora was taken outside of Philadephia, right?"

"Right."

"And you're licensed in Ohio. That's, what? A nine-hour drive? Maybe more?"

He didn't answer, but the way he looked away told me enough.

"Look, I'm not saying she didn't trust you. But if something went south, if she needed to hide Nora in an emergency, she may have reached out to the person with actual portal magic who excels at hiding things. Someone she knew well, and knew how to contact."

"You're suggesting she trusted Kirkland for something like that?"

"I'm not saying she trusted him. I'm saying you're assuming she didn't."

Perhaps it was because I had one too many romance novels on the brain, but, to me, his sister knowing Kirkland 'better than most' had romantic connotations.

I mean… some bad boy thief with magic that could take you to Paris for lunch, and have you back within the hour?

It was no flying carpet, but he could show you the world.

Eugene went quiet again.

"Think about it," I continued. "Kirkland would be ideal for hiding someone like Nora. But he's got a record. And when your sister ended up in the hospital, and she couldn't speak for him, it made him look guilty. Now he's on the run. Not because he did something wrong—but because no one can prove he didn't."

I paused, considering how absurd it sounded—but also how neatly the pieces aligned.

"Hell, this is almost the plot to Man on Fire."

Eugene frowned. "What?"

"You know. Starring Denzel Washington? He plays a bodyguard hired to protect Dakota Fanning but gets framed for her kidnapping instead."

Nevermore piped up, "Wasn't the father trying to commit insurance fraud?"

"I said almost."

Eugene gave me a sidelong look. "How are you making these connections?"

"Why do wizards read Harry Potter?" I countered. "Look, I just consume a lot of media, and my instincts tell me you missed something. I'm not saying this is what happened. I'm just saying—what if?"

He didn't answer, but I could tell the wheels were turning.

Eugene sighed. "I suppose it's in the realm of possibilities."

Then he paused, and I watched something shift behind his eyes. A flicker of realization.

"But if that's true," he muttered, "could mean..."

Without finishing the thought, he stood up and made his way to the Slip. He opened the door and called out, "Venu al mi!"

The glowing rubber ball flew up the shaft and into his hand. With another word—"Intensigi"—he intensified the light and tossed it back down.

"What is it?" I asked, stepping closer.

We watched the ball drop. This time, instead of fading into darkness as a mere pinprick, it bathed the bottom of the shaft in soft golden light.

"Had a bit of an epiphany," Eugene said.

The ball hit the floor, bounce several times, before coming to a stop.

"What if this trap wasn't meant for us?"

The light settled, and I could make out the bottom.

The floor of the shaft was cluttered with old construction debris—broken pieces of wood, bent steel rebar, jagged chunks of concrete.

And impaled across all of it were the four bodies.

Three of them were dogs—more thralls, if I had to guess.

The fourth was a person.

My stomach turned. I was looking at an honest-to-god dead body.

Eugene glanced at me. "You said it sounded like the chimera wandered off, right?"

"That seems to be the case. But it doesn't really make sense."

"That's because we've been assuming it was being actively puppeted. But…"

He pointed to the figure lying at the bottom of the shaft.

"I'm willing to bet that that is our Puppeteer."