Charmed and Dangerous by Lindsay Buroker

5

Amar startedthe truck while Morgen ran to grab her purse and her staff out of the house. He’d agreed to come with her in case whoever had broken into the tannery was still there.

“Everything okay?” Wendy asked when Morgen jogged inside, waving for Lucky to stay in the house.

“Break-in at the building I leased.”

“Didn’t you just lease that today?”

“Two hours ago, yes. I had a hunch it would be trouble, but I didn’t listen to my gut.” Morgen paused once she had her purse and the antler-tipped staff she’d inherited from her grandmother. “Do you want to come along? Deputy Franklin said someone reported seeing glowing lights inside.”

Since Wendy had grown up around witches and had been practicing most of her life, she knew a lot more about magic than Morgen. If it turned out to be something otherworldly, maybe she would have some ideas.

“Sure.” Wendy waved toward the raised hearth where someone—someone slinky and furry, Morgen had no doubt—had knocked kindling onto the floor. “Come on, Napoleon. We’re needed.”

The ferret rose up on his hind legs and chittered while looking at the empty fireplace.

“He’s been trying to get me to build a fire,” Wendy said. “He gets chilled easily this time of year.”

“Why don’t you get him a sweater?”

Napoleon ran over and launched himself into Wendy’s arms. He waved his nose toward Morgen, probably wondering if she had any snacks in her pockets. As if alerted to the possibility, Lucky sat an inch away from her foot and wagged his tail hopefully.

“You stay here,” Morgen told him. “I need someone to guard the house and greet Zoe if she shows up while we’re gone.” She didn’t know if her cousin had left right after their call, but it wasn’t that long of a drive up from Seattle.

Lucky whined.

Morgen pulled a dog treat out of a pocket, gave it to him, and petted his head. “Good boy.”

Napoleon chittered a protest, either at not being called a good boy or at not getting a goodie.

“Does he like dehydrated chicken strips?” Morgen offered one of the treats to Wendy.

“Probably.” She accepted it and tore off a piece for the ferret as they closed the door on Lucky and headed to the driveway. “He’s a carnivore and likes anything meaty.”

As Morgen recalled, Napoleon also liked pistachios and avocado crisps. Some carnivore.

Wendy started toward Morgen’s car, but Morgen pointed at Amar’s sixty-year-old blue truck, which was already turned on and idling like a double-decker freeway in an earthquake.

“We’re taking backup,” Morgen said.

“Oh.” Wendy hesitated. She and Amar got along all right these days—Amar had even learned her name—but Napoleon still hadn’t warmed up to any of the werewolves, even the one he shared the property with.

“I’ll sit in the middle.” Morgen slid into the truck first, making room on the single bench for Wendy, something that was difficult while maneuvering a long staff with antlers on the top. At least Amar’s beater of a vehicle didn’t have upholstery on the ceiling to rip. There was barely upholstery on the seat, and the duct tape that covered large swaths of it offered further protection.

“You anticipate a battle?” Amar eyed the staff as it almost whacked him in the head.

“I don’t know, but I’m taking this and my app along in case any enemies show themselves.” Physical or spectral. None of Morgen’s life experiences had given her a reason to believe in ghosts, but before she’d moved up here, she hadn’t had a reason to believe in witches or werewolves either. Now, she felt obligated to keep an open mind.

When Wendy slid in beside her, Napoleon spotted Amar and squeaked dramatically before falling limply into her lap. It wasn’t that convincing an act of playing dead, because he was still working on the dehydrated chicken strip, a treat meant for dog-sized jaws, not ferret chompers.

“You will bring that useless rodent instead of your hound?” Amar put the truck into drive.

“Napoleon isn’t useless.” Wendy glowered over at him, inasmuch as someone with freckles and blonde pigtails could glower. “If you’re ever trapped in a jail cell and need someone to slink through the bars and steal the keys from a hook, you’ll see how useful he is.”

“Do you spend a lot of time in jail cells?” Morgen asked as they rolled down the long winding driveway, the potholes attempting to launch her into the ceiling.

“Well,” Wendy said, “I’m going somewhere with you, so it seems possible they could be in my future.”

“Hilarious. Lucky is staying home to greet Zoe if she shows up at the house while we’re gone.”

“Your cousin would be aggrieved if your hound weren’t there to jump on her as she opens the door?” Amar asked.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Morgen smiled at him.

He slanted her a sidelong look.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t cozied up to and bonded with him. Half the time, when he sleeps in bed with us, you’re the one he uses as a pillow.”

“The dog sleeps with you?” Wendy asked. “When you’re having, uhm, relations?”

“We keep the door closed until after the relations.” Morgen braced her hand on the dash as they hit one last pothole before rolling out onto the paved street. “After that, I let him in, and Amar firmly tells him that he must sleep on the rug, which he does until we fall asleep. At some point, I wake up with paws in my back, and Lucky’s head slung across Amar’s chest.”

“I’m glad ferrets don’t take up much space.” Wendy stroked Napoleon’s still-limp form.

“I’m just glad Zorro doesn’t want to sleep in the bed too.” Morgen pulled out her phone and tapped open her app to look for incantations that could create glowing lights.

Until she saw for herself what Franklin had reported, she would assume there was a mundane explanation—maybe some teenagers with flashlights had broken in, and the dust filming the windows had made the beams seem to be eerily glowing—but given the number of peculiarities that occurred in and near Wolf Wood, it was possible they were some magical phenomena. She hoped not. She didn’t need any paranormal wackiness taking place in the building she’d just leased.

“Have you heard anything about the tannery outside of town, Wendy?” Morgen asked, realizing she had with her a resource who’d lived in Bellrock her whole life.

“Just that it’s haunted. Kids like to ride by on their bikes and throw rocks through the windows to stir up the ghost.”

Morgen started to scoff, but the chalk outline popped into her mind. “Whose ghost is supposed to be in there?”

“Nobody knows, but people have reported moaning sounds emanating from the building in the middle of the night.”

Maybe Morgen should have brought Wendy with her for the tour with the agent. Though there weren’t a lot of buildings for lease in Bellrock, so it wasn’t as if they’d had an abundance of choices. Especially, as Martha had pointed out, in Morgen’s price range.

“I’m hoping that a good cleaning and some window repairs will make it respectable,” Morgen said.

“I don’t think those things get rid of ghosts,” Wendy said.

Not commenting on the subject, Amar turned the truck onto Main Street. Did he believe in ghosts?

“Do you know anything that does?” Morgen asked.

“Ecto-goggles and a proton pack?” Wendy suggested.

Morgen sighed at her.

When Amar parked in the street in front of the tannery, a sheriff’s department SUV was already there, though the lights weren’t on inside the building. Morgen expected to find Deputy Franklin investigating the premises. Instead, he was in the driver’s seat of his SUV with his phone out, playing a word game.

“This is how you investigate suspicious activity that people report?” Morgen asked when Franklin rolled down the window.

“I looked around outside and didn’t see anything except some recently broken glass. I wanted to wait until the owner—the renter—arrived before presuming to go in.”

“Because you need a warrant otherwise?” Morgen asked.

“Because the place is haunted.”

Apparently, that was common knowledge to the residents. Morgen definitely should have asked around more before leasing the place. She hoped a ghost wouldn’t deter tourists from coming to shop once they got the place up and running.

“Besides—” Franklin held up his phone, “—I need a five-letter word with a U in the middle.”

“Crumb?”

“Hm.”

Morgen left him to finish the game and headed toward the side of the building, where the cracked parking lot and the front door were. She glanced in the windows as she passed them. Whatever glowing lights had been there earlier, they were gone now.

Amar and Wendy were waiting for her at the front door, Wendy holding her limp ferret and Amar sniffing the air.

“Mayor Ungar was here,” Amar grumbled. “I recognize his scent.”

“Do you think he would throw rocks at the windows?” Wendy asked. “That seems really immature for a grumpy adult.”

“You’re nineteen. I believe in the eyes of the law you’re an adult now too.” Morgen didn’t bring up the fact that Wendy had been taking measurements for a TV for video gaming earlier.

“Yeah, but I mean like old and grumpy.”

“I think Ungar is in his forties.” Morgen didn’t point out that she was that age and definitely not old. “Maybe forty-five. He’s got some gray in his hair. Amar, he was here earlier when I was leasing the place. That might be what you’re smelling.”

Amar squinted at her. “Did he threaten you?”

“He asked if I’d paid my taxes yet.”

“That is all? He was at the battle at your house last month, letting himself be commanded by the rougarou.”

“I figured. A lot of the Loups were.” Morgen shrugged, though the thought had crossed her mind too. Had the mayor tried to keep himself from being controlled? Or had he been happy to go along with a command to attack Morgen’s home and her witch allies?

“The Loups do not like that the Lobos are getting along better with the coven now,” Amar said. “They’ve been puffing out their chests and threatening us again lately.”

“Maybe we were premature in assuming all of our enemies are gone.” Morgen smiled sadly at him, leaned her staff next to the door, and fished out the key.

“If they cause trouble, I will deal with them.”

As Morgen pushed open the door with a creak loud enough to wake the dead—or the ghost—Napoleon lifted his head and sniffed. Once they stepped inside, he squirmed until Wendy set him down. He took off across the floor and scampered up the steps to the loft.

“He probably smells mice,” Wendy said.

“Tell him to help himself but to watch out. There are some old traps lying around.”

Wendy closed her eyes, as if she was communicating the message telepathically.

Graffiti on the wall opposite the bank of windows overlooking the street caught Morgen’s eye. Words in green paint that almost glowed read: Freedom isn’t given. It must be taken.

Morgen couldn’t tell if the message had been painted in the past couple of hours or if it was only that it had grown more visible with the fall of night. When she turned the lights on, the words faded and were barely noticeable.

Amar strode inside and looked and sniffed around the front room. Floorboards creaked under his boots.

A twinge of nausea came over Morgen, and she gripped the doorjamb and cursed. Her earlier brief look at the bathroom had revealed that the water wasn’t turned on—among other deficiencies. She might have to run outside to throw up behind the building.

But a vision came over her, Main Street from high above, the focus on the downtown area. Zorro was nearby, sharing his flight with her. Did he see something threatening?

The owl flew past trees and over a block to the Back Alley Pub, a place Morgen had visited only once, to extract Wendy when she’d been drunk and playing video games there after her sister’s death. Several dark figures stood or lounged against the wall in the alley. One looked up when Zorro flew overhead, and Morgen recognized him as one of the Loups. She couldn’t remember his name, but she’d once cut his belt and bootstrings when he’d attacked Amar.

One of his buddies also saw Zorro, snarled, and grabbed a broken bottle to throw at him.

“Bastard,” Morgen whispered.

Fortunately, Zorro easily evaded the clunky projectile. He flapped off toward the beach beyond town and turned north, perhaps looking for mice now that he’d reported on the goings on in town.

I think there are rats in the loft here, if you want to visit later, she thought to him.

A squeak came from the loft, not a rat but a ferret. A moment later, Napoleon ran down the stairs at top speed, cobwebs and dust coating his head.

“What’s wrong, Nappy?” Wendy bent, offering her arms.

But Napoleon squeaked again, darted past her, and ran out the door.

Wendy swore. “I have to get him.”

She rushed outside, almost crashing into Deputy Franklin, who was walking up.

“Everything all right?” Franklin asked, frowning after her as Wendy kept going, chasing the ferret down the street.

“He found something in the loft that scared him,” Morgen said.

“I don’t hear or smell anyone up there,” Amar said. “He may have brushed against a trap and startled himself.”

“Did you hear one go off?”

“No, but its mere presence may have alarmed him,” Amar said. “I haven’t noticed that bravery is one of his qualities.”

“True.” Even so, Morgen couldn’t help but eye the loft uneasily. Maybe coming down here after dark hadn’t been the best idea.

Her gaze caught on one of the meat hooks, and she shivered.

“I will look in the loft.” Amar took a step, but Morgen stopped him.

“Wait. Zorro just shared a vision with me. A bunch of the Loups are at the Back Alley Pub. They looked like they were loitering, but it’s possible they were doing something more threatening. Or planning something more threatening. Could they have known we would come down here?”

“If they threw the rocks, they might have intentionally drawn us down here,” Amar said. “The pub is only a few blocks away. They could be planning to attack us.”

Morgen tightened her grip around her staff, glad she’d brought it, but if that many Loups came after them, would it be enough? She’d successfully used the werewolf-control spell on a couple of them before, but it was difficult to control more than one person at a time, and as strong a fighter as Amar was, even he couldn’t take on half a pack at once.

A new fear came to her as she imagined him dying before their baby was born, of him never getting to meet his son or daughter, and of her having to raise the kid alone.

She shook her head, reminded that she hadn’t yet confirmed with her doctor that there was a baby. It was too early to worry about such things—and Amar had often proven himself capable of dealing with the Loups. Besides, they weren’t alone.

“Let’s hope they won’t do anything with a law officer here.” Morgen waved to Franklin, who stood in the doorway.

Amar looked Franklin up and down, his gaze lingering on the pot belly that slumped over the deputy’s belt, but he didn’t say anything disparaging.

Still, Franklin straightened his back and patted his sidearm. “They had better not do anything with me here.”

Movement outside a back window caught Morgen’s eye.

“Someone’s out there.” She pointed.

Amar and Franklin stepped outside. Morgen debated whether to follow them or stay inside and look around—with her staff in hand. She opened her app and searched for ghosts as well as glowing lights in her database of witchdom, as she thought of it, hoping to find something useful.

A number of incantations could produce lights of various sorts to guide a witch in the dark. There was also one to extinguish someone else’s light. Fewer entries about ghosts appeared. That surprised her, as she would have thought witches had experience interacting with otherworldly beings. After all, she’d experienced Calista summoning a demon—unfortunately. She hoped to spot an incantation with instructions for banishing a ghost, but all that came up was one for forcing a ghost to show itself.

Did she want that? She wrinkled her nose.

“Arturo,” Amar barked from around the corner of the building. “¿Qué estás haciendo?”

Morgen stepped into the doorway as Arturo and Amar walked into view, speaking in Spanish. Franklin had moved out to the street and was looking up and down it. Wendy had disappeared from view, and Morgen frowned with worry. What if she crossed paths with the Loups?

“Está bien, tío, está bien.” Arturo waved placating hands toward Amar, then walked up to Morgen. He smiled proudly and held out a paper. “I’m glad to have found you, Ms. Keller. I have a big order for you.”

“An order?”

“From Dr. Valderas. He has a bunch of clients who need flea-and-tick charms, and the word is getting out that you’re the lady for those.”

Crafting charms wasn’t at the forefront of Morgen’s mind at the moment, but with the mayor reminding her about her impending tax bill, she would take any work she could get. She accepted the paper with a nod. “Yes, I am.”

“Have him look at the graffiti,” Amar suggested, squinting at Arturo. “He should be an expert on such matters.”

Morgen raised her eyebrows, wondering if Amar suspected Arturo of having painted the message. He was known to smash the mailboxes of witches, after all. She didn’t think Arturo had a reason to pester her—she’d even helped heal him when he’d been half-eviscerated by the rougarou—but it was possible he hadn’t known she’d leased this place. He might have been engaged in a random act of hooliganism.

“How did you know I was here, Arturo?” Morgen asked casually, not wanting to openly accuse him of anything.

Arturo shrugged. “Dr. Valderas knew. I was getting a check-up so he could make sure my wounds are all healed up. The scars are super epic. Look.” He lifted his shirt, showing the lines of pink scar tissue that remained from his encounter. “He said women love scars. Is that right?” He beamed a smile at her, apparently having reached the age at which one develops an interest in the opposite sex. “I thought about showing them to Wendy.”

“Wendy is too old for you—and your scars.”

“She’s a teenager.”

“She’s nineteen. That’s a big age difference in teen years.” Morgen didn’t think he’d told her his age, but she was fairly certain he was only about thirteen.

“I’m almost a man. Look, I have abs and pecs.” He turned left and right to better display his torso.

“Yes, they’re very nice.” Morgen pushed his shirt down. “Come give me your opinion on this graffiti and how fresh it is, please.”

“Amar,” Franklin called from the street, waving and pointing.

A Land Rover was rolling slowly in their direction, the windows down. This late at night in the off-season, Main Street wasn’t busy, so it stood out.

“That’s one of the Loups’ cars.” Amar held up a finger to Morgen. “If they stop, I’ll take care of it.”

“Yell if you need any help.” Morgen waved her staff and touched the amulet hanging around her neck.

Amar issued what sounded like an I-can-handle-them-without-help grunt and strode toward Franklin.

Arturo headed inside and peered at the walls. Though Morgen didn’t want to wander around the place in the dark, she turned off the lights so the message would be easier to see.

“Huh.” Arturo headed over and touched the glowing green words. “This was painted a long time ago. Look at the cracks. Yeah, this is really old.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup. I’m a connoisseur.”

“Of graffiti?”

“Yup.” Arturo grinned at her.

“I guess it’s a relief that someone new isn’t vandalizing the building I leased. Other than throwing rocks at the windows.” Morgen eyed a round river stone lying on the floor amid shattered glass. “Which seems to have been a pastime of the town for generations and probably has nothing to do with me.”

But if not a graffiti artist, who had been wandering around inside the building causing lights to glow? The ghost? Or had the hotel owner imagined seeing such a thing?

Outside, car doors slammed.

“I’d better go help.” Arturo jogged out the front door.

Morgen was inclined to do the same. Even if there hadn’t been potential trouble outside, she wouldn’t have wanted to be alone in the building at night.

Staff in hand, she headed for the door, but a gust of wind blew through the broken windows, and it shut.

“Lovely.” She refused to feel creeped out, intimidated, or take that as a sign.

But her courage wavered when she reached the door, tried to turn the knob, and found it locked. The old lockset required a key to unlock from both sides. She slid hers in but couldn’t turn it. Scowling, she rattled the key and the knob, but nothing worked.

What the hell? She’d unlocked the door to come in, and Arturo couldn’t have locked it without the key.

She twisted again and tugged, certain the old door was simply stuck. But it didn’t budge.

Outside, more car doors slammed, and someone shouted something in French. Amar called back in Spanish. Morgen had no idea what they were saying but hoped it was something along the lines of, Let’s agree to share the town and leave each other alone, not, I’m challenging you to a duel to the death.

Once more, Morgen tugged at the door, but nothing had changed. It didn’t budge. She thought about giving it a solid kick, but any damage she did she would have to pay for later. She eyed the windows, but they consisted of dozens of small panes. Even though many were broken, she couldn’t climb out without breaking the frame first.

“Oh.” She snapped her fingers and opened her app to refresh her memory for an incantation she’d used before. Gripping her amulet, she said, “Under the moon’s magic, coerce this door to unlock, so that forward I may walk.”

The star-shaped amulet warmed in her hand, and she sensed power flowing toward the door. When she’d voiced the incantation before, it had instantly unlocked the library door in her house. This time, the result was different. The doorknob glowed green—a green eerily similar to the color of the graffiti paint.

When she glanced toward the words on the wall, they seemed to glow brighter, matching the glow of the doorknob.

Though she wasn’t sure about touching something glowing—the word radioactive floated through her mind—Morgen grabbed it and tried to open the door again. A zap of energy stung her palm, and she jerked her hand back.

An ominous creak came from the loft, as if someone was walking around up there.

Morgen shook her head. Either someone was playing an elaborate hoax on her, or the townspeople were right. The tannery was haunted.