Vendetta (Page 8)

Of everything he owned, Zeke was particularly proud of the things he’d killed and stuffed. If he had his way, William Winkler’s head, wolf or human, was going to join his collection. He suspected that Winkler was personally responsible for Dom Pruitt’s death, and was sure Winkler had called in vampires to help. Tanner had the greater number of wolves and they would have won the battle if Winkler hadn’t had several of the vampire filth there to fend off the attack.

"Are you sure it was a good idea, setting Jack Howard adrift in that raft?" Hutch, Zeke’s new Second, asked. "He could tell everything he knows about the werewolf race."

"You think I give a damn about that?" Zeke hissed. "Let the Grand Master explain to the whole world that werewolves exist. They’re not gonna come down here and ask us about it." Zeke pulled a semiautomatic rifle from a gun cabinet and slung it over a shoulder. "Come on, we’re driving to the new location. Now."

* * *

"What can possibly cause rat’s hearts to explode?" Randy Smith looked over the reports from the veterinarian. She’d done autopsies on dozens of dead rats from Chicago’s old underground narrow gauge rail tunnels. The rat’s bodies seemed in good health—except for their exploded hearts.

"No idea. No traces of chemicals or anything else, and those wouldn’t cause this kind of damage." Sara Dillon worked for the city animal shelter. She’d been drafted into doing the autopsies after so many piles of dead rats were found in parts of the tunnels. "Honestly, rats are vermin. We should count it as a blessing, unless other animals start dying for the same reason."

"Haven’t heard of any," Randy shrugged. Sara was close to thirty, but was very pretty and looked younger. Randy thought about asking her out. Her red hair was cut collar-length and curled riotously about her head. Green eyes and a pretty mouth smiled often. At Randy.

"Well, uh, let me know if you hear anything," Randy stammered uncomfortably. "About other animals dying the same way, that is."

"I will," Sara said brightly. Randy, shy suddenly, let the opportunity go. He waved and walked out of Sara’s office, the folder of autopsy reports in his hand.

* * *

"Mom, how can I write an article about this?" Randy sighed. Dawn, his werewolf mother, had come to Chicago to spend a few days before going back to New Mexico. She worked for the Post Office there and had more than enough vacation time saved.

"About what?" Dawn pulled a pan of lasagna from the oven. Homemade lasagna was Randy’s favorite meal.

"These autopsies show that the rat’s hearts exploded. The vet says she has no idea how that happened."

"Really?" Dawn went to the fridge, pulling out mozzarella cheese to make garlic cheese bread.

Dawn’s hair and eyes were a dark brown, while Randy favored his father, Terry Smith, who’d had lighter brown hair and green eyes. His Uncle Ted looked very much like Randy’s father, too, and still talked of Terry’s murder as if it were three weeks ago instead of three years. Ted had never known of Dawn’s heritage—Terry had kept that secret. Protecting the werewolf race was of paramount importance and every human who married a werewolf swore an oath never to reveal the werewolves to other humans. Randy, too, had never mentioned it to his uncle, although he’d lived with Uncle Ted and Aunt Mary while attending the University of Illinois, finishing in three years instead of four.

"I could write a few words about dead rats and the mystery of exploding hearts and put up a few pictures, but what good will that do? We don’t have a reason and that might cause people to panic. I can go back to the city and see if they’re willing to send more of their work crews down there."

"Sounds good," Dawn replied absently, buttering French bread and spreading cheese over it. She then sprinkled garlic powder and a bit of basil on the top. That went into the oven for a few minutes. "Would you get the plates, Randy?"

Randy sighed and pulled two plates from the cabinet inside his small apartment kitchen, then scrounged for forks. Paper napkins came next. Aunt Mary had cleaned out her cabinets to give him enough dishes to get by until he could afford his own. A junior reporter’s pay wasn’t that great, after all.

"Too bad somebody can’t do anything about the bugs; I saw a huge cockroach in the hallway this morning," Dawn muttered.

"I’ll call maintenance. They spray once a month," Randy said. "It’s not easy getting an apartment in this part of town. I don’t have a car and this place is close to the train."

"You could come back to New Mexico with me. Newspapers are published there, too."

Randy didn’t answer for a few seconds. They’d had the same conversation several times. In fact, he was sure it was why his mother had come to Chicago in the first place—to talk him into going home with her. New Mexico didn’t have anything for him. A position at a Chicago newspaper might get him something better later on. He’d been fortunate to get the job he had.

Besides, if he wanted to move anywhere, he’d go straight back to Texas. He loved spending time with the paranormal community. His mother probably wouldn’t stay there, though; New Mexico was home for her. "Mom, let me do this for myself, all right?" Randy pleaded. "Let me make my own way. Besides, Uncle Ted is close if I need anything."

"But your Uncle Ted isn’t your father. And Aunt Mary isn’t your mother." Dawn sounded hurt.

"Don’t you think I know that? I miss Dad every day. And there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t curse Paul Harris for killing him."

"Randy, you know not to mention that name to me."

"Yeah. Sorry, Mom. I think the bread is ready." Randy nodded toward the oven. Dawn rushed to get the toasted bread out before it burned.

* * *

"Ashe, I’m sorry Dori hit you. She was upset that you didn’t tell her." Cori stood beside Ashe’s makeshift desk—he’d fit the tiny thing in a corner of Andy’s office. Ashe had spent the day going over accounts for Andy, checking figures for him. The task had turned out to be extremely dull work. It was nearly time to go home, too, when Cori arrived.

"I know," Ashe acknowledged Cori’s sympathy as he checked another line of figures against what was written on a page beneath his hand. Ashe knew it was payroll for one of Winkler’s businesses. Andy hadn’t said anything about it, but Ashe figured he suspected something. Now, Ashe was looking for the sewing implement in the traditional pile of hay. "I’d be mad, too, if somebody did that to me. I know she doesn’t want to be together anymore but the truth is, Dori always wanted Sali. I can’t do anything about that."