26. On the Trail
26
On the Trail
“This is boring,” Bo complained from the back of the van.
“Real-life surveillance usually is,” Didi said from the driver’s seat.
“What happened to car chases and explosions?” Bo huffed.
“I wouldn’t be doing this job if it involved car chases and explosions,” the witch muttered.
“Ditto,” Gavin said distractedly.
He was peering through the lens of a high-powered camera at an apartment building down the road. The dragon newt was surprisingly focused on our surveillance operation, his nostrils occasionally sparking as he concentrated.
“At least a hot dog cart going past would be nice,” Bo grumbled.
I couldn’t exactly disagree with him.
We’d been watching Wheeler’s registered address all morning. So far, the only exciting thing that had happened was a kid dropping an ice-cream cone on the sidewalk and two seagulls fighting over it like it was the Holy Grail.
The Crossroads was aptly named. Supernatural and human businesses operated side by side, though the humans remained oblivious to their otherworldly neighbors. A vampire-run coffee shop going by Bloody Good Coffee sat next to a normal bakery. A pixie flower shop was doing business alongside a convenience store.
“So,” Didi said, shooting an overly casual glance my way, “how did the Council meeting go?”
Gavin’s horns perked up.
I swallowed a groan. It was clear both of them were dying to know what had happened yesterday afternoon.
“It was…” I faltered for a beat. “Interesting.”
“That bad, huh?”
I grimaced. It seemed I was going to have to tell them about it whether I liked it or not.
“Let’s just say I may have threatened to punch several Council members in the throat.”
Gavin choked on his energy drink.
“Let me guess?” Didi rolled her eyes. “Helen Sheridan?”
“Bingo.”
“It’s a miracle no one’s turned that woman into a newt yet. No offense, Gavin.”
“None taken.”
I hesitated. “What do you guys know about Priscilla Holt?”
Didi and Gavin traded a cautious look.
“She comes from a very old werewolf family,” the witch said carefully. “Rumor is her ancestors were in New England before the Hawthornes arrived from the Old Continent.”
I digested this information with a frown. Was that the reason Priscilla disliked the Hawthornes being referred to as the most powerful pack in Amberford?
“Do you know anything about her husband’s disappearance?”
Didi drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
“The supernatural task force did a thorough investigation into the incident. I remember because it was all over the papers and on TV. They concluded he was the victim of a deal gone wrong.” The witch shrugged at my puzzled stare. “The Holt pack owns a third of the businesses in Amberford.”
The more I learned about the supernatural community I now belonged to, the more uneasy I became. Life as a human seemed like a picnic compared to the perils of my new werewolf existence.
I thought back to last night’s conversation. “What about Priscilla’s son?”
“You mean Marcus Holt?” Didi said.
“Yeah.”
“He’s the quiet, bookish type,” Gavin said. “Rarely speaks, mostly because of his stutter. Kind kid, if a little gullible. Wouldn’t hurt a newt.”
Didi and I stared at him.
“I went to school with him,” Gavin admitted.
Didi wrinkled her brow. “Didn’t he go to that ritzy private school the next valley over?”
“He did.” The dragon newt squirmed when our stares turned piercing. “My family is rich.”
“Is it because of all the hoarding?” Bo asked innocently.
Smoke curled from Gavin’s nostrils.
Didi hastily redirected the conversation back to our surveillance op. “Nigel’s still got eyes on the back entrance?”
The boogeyman was assisting in our stakeout from his closet at Hawthorne & Associates.
“Yeah,” Gavin confirmed. “He’s monitoring the street cameras.”
“Someone just came out,” Bo panted.
We peered through the van’s tinted windows. A woman had emerged from Wheeler’s building.
“That’s not him,” Didi muttered.
Gavin sighed. “This is going to be a long day. How about one of us grabs some lunch?”
Bo wagged his tail enthusiastically. “I like that idea.”
I listened with half an ear. The woman from Wheeler’s building was crossing the road. She was wrapped in a thick coat and scarf and wore a beanie hat that covered her long, blonde hair.
Something about the way she walked had me staring.
“Abby?” Didi said, puzzled.
The blonde walked into Bloody Good Coffee.
“Why don’t I get us some lunch from there?”
I opened the van door and stepped outside before Didi or Gavin could protest.
Bo hopped down after me. “I could murder a cheese sandwich.”
The coffee shop boasted a Victorian-style storefront with a black-and-crimson awning and gold-leaf Gothic lettering on the windows. The exterior menu board advertised Type-O Lattes and Plasma Punch, although the names flickered to more traditional human coffee names even as I watched.
The door jingled when we stepped inside. The smell of freshly ground coffee, blood, and otherworldly creatures filled my nostrils. I looked around.
The interior was all dark-wood paneling, exposed brick walls, and plush velvet booths in deep burgundy. Antique brass light fixtures cast a warm light over comfortable armchairs and strategically placed mirrors.
Vampire baristas were working vintage coffee grinders and serving food behind a counter made of polished black marble with red veining. The blonde from Wheeler’s building stood in the queue in front of it. She was talking in a low voice on her phone.
I was wondering if I had been imagining things when a stringent voice spoke behind me.
“Abigail?”
I turned and swallowed a groan. It was Helen.
I spotted Priscilla sitting in a booth past her shoulder. The werewolf matriarch’s face displayed surprise before she schooled her features into a neutral expression.
Bo stepped closer to me. “What are they doing here?”
Helen heard him. Her mouth pressed to a thin line. “I could say the same about you two. Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
I frowned. “Last time I checked, I didn’t need the Council’s permission to buy a coffee.”
Helen bristled. “How impertinent!” She crossed her arms and scowled. “Then again, I guess I shouldn’t expect anything better from the Hawthorne luna.”
My hackles rose at her contemptuous tone.
The noise level in the coffee shop dropped as we became the focus of attention.
Priscilla had risen from their booth and was approaching. “Helen, lower your voice. This is not the place to be discussing—” She froze, her gaze locking on something behind me. Confusion flared in her eyes.
A scent I had never smelled before danced across my nostrils. Bo’s ears flattened.
I whirled around, my inner wolf on alert.
The blonde I’d followed into the coffee shop had put her phone away and was staring at us over her shoulder.
“Holy Moly!” Bo mumbled.
The woman’s features literally changed as we watched. Her height, build, even her clothes rippled and morphed into an entirely different figure. One I recognized instantly.
It was Clayton Wheeler.