Witch Wolf (18 page)

"Can I-"

I hung up the phone before he could finish.

Lenorre stood from the bed. "As well," she said, "I need to change my clothes."

I frowned as she began walking toward the door. "Why would you need to change?" I opened the top drawer in the dresser, taking out a pair of stylishly destroyed jeans and red hooded henley.

Rosalin had been thoughtful enough to put a pair of solid black skate shoes in the armoire. I silently thanked her. I was so not in the mood to wear heels.

"Your undergarments are not there because they were not retrievable," Lenorre said matter-of-factly.

An image flashed through my mind of the entire squad finding the remains and sending them in to forensics. So not cool. I was ninety percent certain the woman was reporting the werewolf in Heartland Park. It wasn't a comforting thought that I might end up on that complaint. I certainly hoped not, since I had saved her butt. If that was a possibility, why was I going in to interrogate her? I was also ninety percent sure the wolf in Heartland Park had been Carver, and judging by Arthur's call, they hadn't caught him. Any information I could get would be valuable to the case and taking him down.

"You didn't leave them, did you?"

She gave me a look. "Of course not."

I nodded, but said, "I don't think it's a good idea if you go with me."

"Ah," she said, "but I am going to go with you."

"Why?" I asked.

"You asked for my aid, did you not?"

I tried to see if there was a trap in her words and failed to see one. "You're right," I said carefully,

"I asked."

"So," she said, lifting her shoulders in an elegant shrug, "I am giving it." She gave a victorious smile. "I'll leave you to change. It will not take me too long."

She left, kindly shutting the door behind her. I changed into the clothes I'd set out on the bed.

Digging through the drawer and ruining Rosalin's fold job, I managed to find that she had packed an extra bra for me. It wasn't the same as the bras I usually wore, which molded to my body. This bra was a push-up with two tiny shoulder straps. It was the only bra that made it look like I actually had cleavage.

I hoped the henley would be warm enough. The material was thick, but it had been chilly earlier tonight. I slipped my feet into the shoes, pulling the white socks up so they didn't bunch at my toes. If there was one thing that would drive me neurotic, it was bunched-up socks. I laced the shoes and put my cell phone in my right pocket.

There was a light knock.

I called out, "Come in."

Lenorre walked in. "Better?" She asked.

"Yeah, much better." My gaze traveled over the length of her body. The denim pants she wore were tight and neatly tucked into a pair of strut-your-stuff boots. The word
delicious
came to mind. The shirt she wore was modest and faded, but the design that peeked through the opening of her dark jacket made me laugh.

"The Grateful Dead?" I asked.

She grinned wide enough to flash the tips of her fangs. "I am glad you notice the humor in it."

"Shit, I couldn't miss that a mile away," I said. "At least you look somewhat human. Let's go."

As we stepped into the hallway she walked past me and looked over her shoulder. "So do you."

"So do I what?" I asked, lost.

"You look somewhat human."

"A wolf in sheep's clothing," I jested.

"That is more true than even you know, Kassandra."

I gave her a look at that cryptic comment, but decided it was best if I left it alone, for once. There was a nearly unnerving silence to the house as we left. It felt as if the walls were holding their breath. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something about the house felt strange.

As Lenorre sat in the passenger seat guiding me toward our destination, I tried to memorize the area. This, at two-something in the morning, wasn't easy to do. Everything always looks so different at night. I knew that if I tried to drive back to the house in the morning I'd have to try and remember street names. The problem with that was there were none. They had all been painted over in various shades of spray paint.

"Why aren't there any street signs out here?" I asked.

"There was a house down the road where teenagers used to party. They replaced the signs once, but the kids vandalized them again."

"That explains why the past two stop signs we've passed have 'Go' written on them," I said.

"Indeed," she said. "It does."

"They should really replace the signs. Fine the kids or throw them in juvey."

She lounged in her seat. "They would most likely give them community service."

I nodded in agreement. "True."

"The kids would do it again."

"Oh, look." I leaned over the steering wheel while easing my foot down on the brake for a stop.

"Elderberry," I said, reading the first sign that was graffiti free.

"If you keep going straight it leads to the highway," Lenorre said.

I spared a glance at her. "Forward," I corrected. "When you're in a car with someone that's gay, it's the polite term to use. If you say 'straight' we just come up with smart-assed remarks."

The corner of her mouth trembled for a second in what I thought was an effort not to smile.

"Forward, then."

I wondered if Lenorre was a lesbian. I mean, come on, she'd taken me out to dinner. Wasn't that a date? Well, that and the scene in her bedroom. I tried to think back to my first impression of her at the club. It's easy to visually spot the obviously gay-the stereotypical butch and gay male. The women that go into clubs scoping out other chicks, shoulders held tight, as if they're ready for a fight at any moment. In all reality, stereotypes do not trigger what is commonly known amongst homosexuals as "gaydar." I've met butch and tomboy women who were married and men who were extremely feminine but loved women. There's a lot more to homosexuality than a trend or appearance. Appearances, as they say, are deceiving. Very deceiving. Like knows like, and a lot of us can sniff one another out almost on a psychic level. Kind of like the way I could scent another wolf nearby, I realized.

I glanced again at Lenorre, trying to figure her out. I was betting she was a lesbian, even though it wasn't physically noticeable.

"Kassandra." Lenorre's voice called me out of my thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"You failed to stop at the sign we just passed."

"There's a stop sign behind us?"

She nodded and then looked curiously at me. "What were you thinking about?"

Should I tell her, or do I just ask her, "Are you a lesbian vampire or a bisexual vampire?"

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel. . . Hmm.

I decided to tell her. "I'm trying to figure out if you're a lesbian or not."

Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Why would you try to figure that out?"

"I'm curious," I said.

"Mmm." She tilted her head to the side."What do you think?"

"I think yes," I said, this time remembering to stop. I followed the street under the overpass and made a left onto the service road that would eventually spit the car onto the highway.

Lenorre was silent.

I looked at her. "You're not going to enlighten me, are you?" I asked.

"Why should I when you already know?"

"So, are you admitting to it?"

"That I am a lesbian?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Yes. Though I prefer the title 'Lover of Women.' It has a more sensual ring to it."

"It sounds a little polyamorous to me." I gave the car a little more gas when taking the onramp.

"I can see where one might get that impression," she said. "I am, however, a highly monogamous creature when I am in a relationship."

"When you're in a relationship?" I laughed.

I heard more than saw her shoulders lift in a shrug. "I have been alive long enough that I have tasted a casual encounter at least once, Kassandra."

I ignored the fact that, technically, she wasn't alive. She was undead.

"Once?" I asked.

She smiled, reservedly. "Or twice."

"I'm not a casual person," I said, placing my cards on the table.

"Are you saying that what happened with Rosalin was not a casual encounter?"

I stared at the stretch of highway before us and tried to figure out how to respond. In a sense, it had been casual. Rosalin had been the pursuer, but I had ultimately given in to my wolf, to the energy between us. Could I have stopped it? If I could have, would I? I didn't know. There wasn't any sense in blaming anyone or trying to push it off as an accident. Those were both lies. I wasn't angry with Rosalin, I was angry about the fact that we'd had casual metaphysical sex and I didn't feel as terrible as I thought I should. In fact, I felt okay. Did I see myself having a relationship with Rosalin? No. The energy was amazing, but something was missing, some deeper craving wasn't there with Rosalin. In that moment, I'd felt plain and simple erotic hunger brought on by the wolf. It was nice, but fleeting. It was, in fact, purely animalistic.

I looked at Lenorre.

"I don't take it seriously, if that's what you're asking."

"Good."

"Good?" I asked.

"If she had won your heart. . . it would have diverted all of my plans." Her voice was low and purring.

I shuddered. "And what plans are those?"

"You are a smart woman, Kassandra. I am sure you can figure it out."

*

The police station was a large red brick building located on the opposite side of the highway. It was hard to miss, and was the only two-story police station I'd ever seen. I parked the car and got out. Lenorre followed my lead. Arthur stood outside by the double glass doors that read
City of
Oklahoma Police Department
. He threw his cigarette down in an old coffee can as we approached.

"Took you long enough," he said.

"My broom doesn't work like it used to," I said sarcastically.

He laughed. "Tell that to the boss man."

I stopped and stared at Arthur as he opened the door for Lenorre and me. He was wearing a pair of dark brown wrinkled slacks and a white dress shirt. The collar of the shirt was unbuttoned, as well as the cuffs.

"Why aren't you wearing a uniform?" I asked.

He saluted me. "You're looking at Detective Kingfisher," he said in a singsong voice. I laughed and shook my head.

"They were safer keeping you in the blue suit.".

I looked back at him when he didn't respond. He pushed the sandy brown hair out of his face and stared at Lenorre. His hair was the longest I'd seen it, just beginning to brush the edges of his ears. I watched as recognition dawned across his features.

He held out his hand. "Detective Kingfisher. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting."

His tone was suddenly serious. I realized that even with the messy hair and loose tie, he looked like a detective, one who had been awake for forty-two hours and was stressed the hell out.

If it were any other friend of mine I probably would've interfered. I might've said, "She's with me," so that Arthur wouldn't bug her. No matter how serious he could be, it was rare. Arthur had a sense of humor that didn't just disappear. I crossed my arms over my chest. Lenorre was a big vampire. She could take care of herself.

Lenorre took a step back and looked down at the hand that hovered between them. "We have already met, Detective. I will forgo the handshake."

Arthur frowned and let his arm fall to his side.

"We spoke on the phone earlier," Lenorre said, "when you called to speak with Kassandra."

The frown shifted into a smile, and then a cheesy grin.

"Ooooooooh." He looked at me. "I get it."

I looked impatiently at him. "Are you done?"

"Yeah, I'll leave Vampira alone. Holbrook is waiting in the interrogation room." He walked past me. "Let's go before he gets his tighty whities in a wad."

I made a disgusted face. "That was more than I needed to know."

He looked back at me and grinned.

I caught up with him. "You do realize that you just called the Countess of Oklahoma, Vampira?"

Lenorre walked quietly behind us.

"Yep," he said with his usual cheesy ass smile.

I blinked. "Why?"

"I didn't think she'd take to me calling her Fangs."

I rolled my eyes. "Sometimes, Arthur, I'm convinced you're just a little boy trapped in a big boy's body."

He grinned widely. "Shh. Didn't you know that's supposed to be a secret?"

"Arthur," I said, "don't shush me."

I stopped when he stopped in the middle of the hallway. Lenorre caught up to us. She was tall enough, especially in the heels, that she had to look down at Arthur.

"Even if I didn't know who you were," he said, "I'd still know what you were."

Lenorre smiled rather coyly. "You are not a sensitive, Detective. I find it terribly difficult to believe that if I did not want you to know, that you would."

He blinked. "A sensitive?"

"Psychic," I explained.

He shrugged. "No, I'm not, but I had a friend in college. He was real different afterward."

Her dark brows went up. "How so?"

"He wasn't as much of a klutz." He shrugged again. "It's in the eyes. There's a look to the eyes, like Kassandra." He motioned to me. "She's got this dominant and powerful look," he said, "this look that she won't let anyone push her around. A good cop can tell just by looking at her. When they look down, that is, so that they're not looking over her head."

"Hey!" I said, giving him a dirty look.

"Sorry, Kass, but you're short."

"I'm five-one," I said.

"You're tiny. You need to eat more doughnuts."

I frowned.

"Doughnuts with sprinkles on them, right?" he joked. I narrowed my eyes at him. It was kind of an inside joke. Let's just say that once I made the mistake of specifically requesting a certain type of doughnut when he'd offered to get breakfast. Of course, Arthur and the rest of the department that he told thought it was a freaking hoot. I should've known I'd never live that shit down.

I sighed. "All right, but only if they have sprinkles on them."