Chapter 7
Supernatural Incarceration Unit
TEDDY
The werewolf cop, whom everyone calls Marv, straps me into a deep bucket seat in the back of the van.
As I sink down into the foam-like cushions, their edges curl over my arms and legs, locking me firmly in place; even my head is swathed in the pillowy material.
I’m unable to move, bound by a magically-altered car seat that’s designed to secure dangerous supernatural criminals, not someone like me, an innocent werewolf caught with my pants down, so to speak.
Even worse, we’re careening around sharp curves as we speed toward the police station, the faerie cop named Sam driving like a demon with a death wish. I have a sensitive stomach, which grows increasingly queasy each time Sam jams on the brakes.
Mumbling through my wolfish snout, I plead, “Slo-ower. Pleeze.” But the cops don’t seem to hear me until I moan, “Pleeze. I’m gonna be-ee sick-k!”
Marv turns around, takes one look at me, and shouts, “Pull over, Sam! And roll down the windows; it looks like he needs some fresh air.”
Sam brakes, rolling to a stop so sudden the van rocks back and forth, and I grind my teeth together to keep the contents of my stomach where they belong. He opens all the windows, sending a gust of cool air into the van. “How. Much. Far-r-ther?” I gasp.
The dark-haired faerie turns around to look at me, his brown eyes softening. “Three blocks. I’ll take it real slow.”
“Tha-anks,” I sputter.
Sam drives the rest of the way at a reduced speed with the windows down.
Once we arrive, Marv hauls me out of the van and through the police station’s rear door; I figure it’s the entrance they use for supers so the humans don’t get spooked.
He unshackles my wrists and takes me into the showers, where he turns on the spigot.
The blast of cold water is a welcome relief after that drive.
Marv waits until I’m thoroughly soaked before turning off the faucet, tossing me a towel, and ordering me to shift on the spot, which I do, shivering as goosebumps prickle my flesh.
He turns me over to a stern-faced vampire with long, yellowish fangs, who hands me an orange jumpsuit and dry underwear.
After I change, the guard escorts me to a vacant holding cell that smells of ammonia, closing the door behind him with a sharp clang.
Then he flips a switch, plunging my cell into darkness.
“Wait!” I cry out, not caring that my voice cracks. I’m definitely scared, and I don’t like being alone in the dark. “Don’t I get to make a call?”
“Once Marv and Sam get you processed, you’ll be able to make your call.”
After the vampire leaves, I slump onto the thin cot, dropping my head in my hands with a low moan.
How will Sophie react to my arrest? Will she bail me out? Or will she leave me here until… what? There’s some sort of hearing?
Then another thought, even scarier than Riddle Hill’s supernatural justice system, rears its head. Can Sophie fire me outright? I know there’s a clause in Miss Dragonfly’s will permitting Sophie to sever ties if I violate the law.
But how can mopping floors in my boxers constitute criminal activity? Did I inadvertently break some local law by shifting inside a faerie’s domicile?
I continue to wrack my brain, trying but failing to come up with a rational explanation for my arrest, until it dawns on me someone must have witnessed my werewolf form after I’d taken down the curtains in my bedroom.
I slap my forehead with the palm of my hand, angry with myself for being so careless in Riddle Hill, a town that attracts large numbers of tourists—both supers and non-supers—especially this time of year.
Aargh! I probably broke several village ordinances. I’m bemoaning my own stupidity when the toothy vampire guard finally reappears. He escorts me into a small, mint-green room with an oval table and three chairs. “Have a seat. Can I get you any coffee?”
I shake my head. “No thanks.” After he leaves, I notice the large mirror spanning the back wall: probably two-way glass.
Is someone on the other side watching me?
How many violations can the Riddle Hill cops charge me with?
That last thought makes my gut twist even tighter, and I take some deep breaths to calm my jittery insides.
Marv and Sam enter the room, shutting the door firmly behind them. They sit across from me and stare hard. I drop my eyes submissively; I’m in no position to vent or show anger. And frankly, I abhor fighting unless it’s an absolute last resort.
Rubbing my sweaty palms down the pants of my jumpsuit, I take a stabilizing breath, forcing my racing heart to slow down. I need to remain calm. Steady. In control… or as much control I can muster while I’m a guest of the Riddle Hill Supernatural Incarceration Unit.
Sam tosses my Michigan driver’s license onto the table. “Leslie T. Barker. I take it the T’s for Teddy?”
“Technically it’s Theodore,” I reply politely.
Marv rubs the bristles on his chin. “So tell me, Leslie Theodore ‘Teddy’ Barker, what possessed you to break into that cottage, strip down to your undershorts, shift into your werewolf form, and then dance in front of the windows for every non-super in Riddle Hill to witness?”
Shaking my head, I stammer, “I-I didn’t break in; I was invited inside. I wasn’t dancing but… but working, er… cleaning actually, and I always shift before doing any sort of physical labor. You’re a werewolf… surely you know what happens when you shift in tight-fitting clothes.”
Sam rolls his brown eyes, like he can’t possibly believe I’m telling the truth, while Marv shrugs his beefy shoulders. “And that’s the story you’re sticking with?”
“That’s the truth.” I fold my arms across my chest. “When can I make my call?”
Marv nods at Sam, who places a large, black phone on the table. “Go on. Make your call.”
I wait for them to give me even a modicum of privacy but realize they’re not budging from their chairs.
Huffing a sigh, I take the phone and turn my chair so I face away from them.
I dial Sophie’s number, which I’d memorized weeks ago, when I first learned about the bakery and that she’d be my new boss.
It rings six times but she doesn’t answer.
Grimacing, I swivel back around. “The call went to voicemail.”
“Try again, and this time leave a message.” Sam nods at the phone in my hand. “And then we have some more questions for you.”
Swallowing hard, I turn away for the second time and leave Sophie a voicemail that I can only pray she picks up. When I’m finished, I lay the phone on the table. “Okay, I left her a message.”
“Her?” Marv quirks his brow. “Who’d you call?”
“Sophie Spellman Brownlee.”
The door to the room opens, revealing a big, burly man with thick brown hair and beard, and a curious expression in his amber-gold eyes; it’s the werewolf who ordered my arrest. He walks into the room, nods at the two cops, and says, “I’d like to ask the suspect a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
They leave, although a look passes between the three of them, and I’m certain they’re scurrying around to the other side of the mirror so they can observe me sweating in my hard plastic chair.
And that’s exactly what I’m doing… perspiring profusely…
because this man is giving off undeniable alpha wolf vibes.
When he drops into the seat opposite me, the plastic chair is swallowed up by his bulk.
This werewolf is a solid wall of muscle; he’s someone I’d like fighting for me, not against. He introduces himself, confirming my suspicions.
“My name’s Jake Grayclaw Spellman, and Sophie is my cousin.
So you could say I have a personal interest in the shifter who was discovered dancing around in his underwear inside my cousin’s home. ”
Jake squints at me, but I remain silent until he’s finished speaking; there’s no point in provoking him further. “I’m also alpha of the Bay Howlers pack, and I don’t take kindly to werewolves who get arrested in my territory, particularly ones who’ve not properly introduced themselves.”
Mongrels and moonbeams!
I’m in Riddle Hill for less than a day, and I’ve already managed to antagonize my new boss, get arrested, and tick off the local alpha. Despite Miss Dragonfly’s best intentions, I don’t think I’ll be getting my fresh start in Riddle Hill after all. Maybe I could move farther north; Toronto perhaps?
I decide to address his second objection right away, since that’s the one that can bury me for good, if and when I get out of here. “I made inquiries at the local pub and spoke with Wes, your packmate. He invited me to the pack meeting on Sunday so I could present myself properly.”
Jake narrows his amber eyes at me. “That so?”
“Yes sir.” I nod.
“It’s late,” he grunts. “And I’m in no mood to entertain explanations from unfamiliar wolves arrested for breaking and entering. So let’s cut to the chase: why are you in Riddle Hill, and how do you know Sophie?”
I fold my hands on the table in front of me and peer directly into his eyes; I want this alpha to know I’m sincere.
“I worked for Miss Dragonfly Spellman, of Grand Shores, Michigan, for the past three years; I was her live-in companion, chauffeur, and personal secretary. When Miss Dragonfly passed, she apportioned a part of her estate to me.”
I pause when I notice Jake’s scowl deepening, but he waves a hand for me to continue.
Taking a deep breath, I hurriedly explain, “Miss Dragonfly’s will contained quite a few stipulations in order for me to inherit my portion, including moving to Riddle Hill and working for your cousin—in exchange for room, board, and the opportunity to own ten percent in one year’s time. ”
“Ten percent of what?” replies Jake.
“The Rhyme ’N Riddle Bakeshop.”
“Wait a minute.” Jake runs a hand through his hair. “You’re that Leslie? We all assumed Leslie was a girl.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ll have to take that up with my mother.”
“You didn’t actually break in, did you?” When I shake my head, Jake asks, “But why were you dancing in your boxers? It may not be illegal, but frankly it’s worrisome. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m very protective of Sophie and the rest of my family.”
“I wasn’t dancing; I was cleaning. I work much faster in my werewolf form.”
“And you clean in your undershorts?”
I huff out a sigh. “Normally I wear sweats, but all my stuff’s still in the trunk of my car. I didn’t want to unpack until I’d… er… organized and disinfected my room. Your cousin is...”
“A brilliant baker,” says Jake, “and a tad messy.”
“Y-yes.”
Jake leans forward, the chair creaking beneath him. “I’m going to confirm your story, Mr. Barker. And if it checks out, we’ll see about dropping the charges. But let me make one thing perfectly clear: if you so much as look the wrong way at Sophie, you’ll have to answer to me. Understand?”
“Yes sir.”
“And the next time we meet—assuming you really are that Leslie—I’ll want to hear about your last pack and all the pertinent details.”
I’m certain Jake has noticed the lack of an alpha-scent on me; he must realize I’m a loner. I mumble apologetically, “I don’t have a pack, not any longer.”
Jake’s eyebrows bend inward. “For how long?”
“Three years… ever since Miss Dragonfly employed me.” I hesitate. “It’s a long story, perhaps best saved for another time.”
Jake stands up, pushes in his chair, and pins me with a steely glower that makes my tongue go immediately dry and stick to the roof of my mouth.
I know he’s trying to shake my resolve, but I refuse to flinch; I need to prove I’m a werewolf worthy of joining his pack.
“Alright, Mr. Barker. I’ll listen to your tale, but know this: if I smell anything fishy, I’ll run you right out of Riddle Hill, regardless of Dragonfly Spellman’s last will and testament. ”
Since I can’t think of anything to say in my defense, I don’t reply. Jake straightens, his scowl replaced by an assessing gaze. Then he asks, “Do you have any questions for me?”
“No sir.” At this point, all I want is to shed my orange jumpsuit, leave the SIU, and tumble onto the mattress in my spic-and-span bedroom.
“Then I’ll offer a word of advice, Mr. Barker,” says Jake wearily. “While you’re in my town, keep your clothes on and your nose clean.”