Kissing the Werewolf - An Izzy Cooper Novel (5 page)

But he had some rules he had to follow.

He could not interfere with my redemption by way of temping me toward evil. That didn’t seem to bother Julius too much. He probably figured I would do a good enough job of damning myself, without any interference from him.

“A guardian angel wouldn’t do you a lot of good. You’d probably scare him away.” Julius mocked me, adding insult to injury with his wicked - sexy smile.

I decided to ignore his rude remark, as well as the way he taunted me with his seductive smile. Being a good girl wasn’t too easy when you were sexually deprived, and constantly being tempted.

That was his secret plan. He’d use seduction to lure me away from my mission. It would probably have worked better if he weren’t so rude.

“How did you get in here anyway?” I asked, turning my attention back to my food.

“Through the front door. How else?”

I shook my head, not even bothering to look up. “I locked it.”

Julius held up his index finger. “Maybe you did, but I have the ultimate key,” he smirked.

After swallowing another bite of lasagna, I asked, “Did you get bored with Missy what’s her name?”

“I heard about the new case you’re on.”

“Still … I would think Missy would be more interesting than some old murder case,” I said, just before stuffing a fork full of food in my mouth.

Whenever Julius wasn’t on hand to remind me of my eternal damnation, he was usually playing with my neighbor down the road, the recently widowed, Missy Rogers.

It was the recently widowed part that had me wondering. Seriously, how many people got mauled by a poodle?

That was the official explanation. Being the helpful civil servant that I am, I spent hours trying to get Jeb to see how unlikely that scenario was, but he’d shrugged it off.

So Missy’s husband fell while running from a poodle, and in the process, hit his head.

That was Jeb’s explanation, and he was sticking to it.

I had other ideas, like maybe he’d been blitz attacked.

There was no doubt in my mind that she’d done in her husband so that she could get it going with Julius, whom had been hanging around her for weeks. With him being a demon and all, I figured my theory was pretty solid.

Of course I had a little help coming to this conclusion. Whenever I saw Missy, her husband was hovering nearby, pointing an accusing finger at her.

“Missy’s a handful, I give you that,” he said, flashing me a wide smile. “But, I thought my little ward could use a hand with her new case.”

Now I was suspicious. Julius had never given a hoot about anything I was working on. Dealing with human drama wasn’t exactly high on his priority list.

“What’s so important about this case that would drag you away from your sinful pursuits?” I was suspicious, and I wasn’t hiding it.

“Have you noticed how close it is to Founder’s Day?” he asked.

I hadn’t. In fact, it had completely slipped my mind that the anniversary of the shipwreck was in a week.

“So what does that have to do with anything?”

Shrugging his wide shoulders, he stood up. “I doubt it’s by chance that you would have two murders, back to back, and only be a few days away from the two hundred year anniversary, especially considering the curse.”

He was right. How the hell had I overlooked the curse?

The curse wasn’t talked about much, mostly because the majority of the town didn’t take it seriously. The first time I’d heard about the Storm Cove curse, was when we were covering local folklore in history class.

According to the Black River Indians, Mystique Island was supposedly some kind of portal into different dimensions. The natives on the mainland warned the Storm Cove founders to leave the island, but the warnings weren’t taken seriously, except for by a few.

The founders took the warnings as a threat of war. They figured to head off trouble they’d attack first.

This they did. The four men known as the Founding Fathers, made their way to the mainland and the small Indian village. They attacked in the early morning hours, killing men, women and children. Before leaving, they burned the village to the ground.

There were few survivors, but among those survivors was an elderly shaman. The old man cursed the founders to be as the animals that lurked within their black hearts.

That was how the Storm Cove Pack came to be, at least that was the theory.

But there was more to the curse.

When the shaman showed up on the island, ragged and nearly dead from starvation, he stood in the town square and spit his curse on the people.

His curse was that after two hundred seasons had gone by, death would come for their descendants.

The shaman collapsed and died. The rest of the Indian survivors moved further up the Coquille River and were never heard from again. As the years went by, the memory of the curse faded until it became no more than folklore.

But my granny insisted the story and the curse were real. The Osborn witches claimed the founders were no more than opportunists who’d stowed away aboard the Mystique. It wasn’t until they were cursed that they began to shift into wolves.

Both Dale and Gwen were descended from the cursed families.

Julius padded the top of my head. “I see you are finally making the connection.”

Smacking his hand away, I retorted, “I’ve already considered that possibility.”

Julius clucked his tongue. “Lying like that is going to buy you a one way ticket to the old hotbox.”

Damn that Julius! I kept forgetting that he could tell when I was lying. “You should go back to Hell.”

“Not yet. I’m having way too much fun here. Mortals are so amusing.”

Instead of continuing the argument, I stuffed more lasagna in my mouth.

Leaning down, he whispered in my ear. “Well you know where I’ll be if you need me … for
anything
.”

I knew exactly what he meant. Julius had been trying to do me since the day he’d showed up in my bathroom while I was showering.

“When hell freezes over!”

Shaking his head, he gave me a quick wave of his hand as he was leaving. I didn’t bother to respond.

It wasn’t that I disliked Julius, at least not too much anyway
. I just couldn’t stand his arrogance and uncanny ability to be evil, while seeming normal.

Still, he did have one hell of a talent for knowing things. Maybe it was time to pay Granny Stella a visit and pick her brain. A lot of people could tell me about the curse, but Granny was the only one I trusted to know the down and dirty of it, without all the extra morsels thrown in.

At first I wasn’t sure if what I was hearing was thunder, or someone pounding at my door.

But when the thunder died away, the wrapping on the door continued.

Who the hell would be at my door in the middle of the night, and during a thunderstorm no less?

After prying my eyes open, I realized it wasn’t the middle of the night. It was nearly nine in the morning, which meant I was about to be late for work again. One of these days Ayden really was going to fire me. He’d threatened to do it at least a half a dozen times since I’d started with the Bureau.

What the heck?

One more day being late wasn’t going to make that much difference.

Comforted by the thought, I closed my eyes, hoping to drift back to sleep. The intruder pounding on my door had different ideas.

Deflated, I crawled out from beneath my turtle comforter and groped the floor for my slippers. They weren’t too hard to find on account of them being neon green turtles. At least they wouldn’t have been difficult to find if I’d thought to open my eyes.

Finally my feet were protected and I could get out of bed, without being thrown into shock by the ice-cold floor.

One day I’d manage to talk the landlord into installing carpet, until then I’d have to rely on my trusty turtle slippers.

I was half way to the door when the pounding started again.

“Okay! Okay! Give me a minute!” I yelled, hoping I sounded ornery enough that when I opened the door, whoever it was would have slipped away.

No such luck.

When I swung open the door, Tim was standing there with a goofy grin on his face. “Good morning.”

“Says who?” I grumbled.

“Well, other than that storm rolling in off the Pacific … it’s a good enough day,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Says the one who didn’t have me at his door waking him up this morning.”

“Well … I brought you a peace offering.” Tim held up a tray with two coffees and a bag from the Bayside Grill. I assumed the bag held something edible, since it came from the Grill and all.

“Did Ayden put you up to this?”

Tim shook his head. “Not at all. I just thought you might appreciate going over the forensics, without the boss breathing down our necks.”

I had to hand it to Tim. He sure could turn a bad situation to his favor. There was also the fact that my nose was waking up, and I had just reached that point where I’d kill for a shot of caffeine.

“You better come in before that coffee gets cold.”

When we were settled at my kitchen table with coffee and the Grill’s breakfast special, Tim pulled out a manila folder.

“So you already know the fur on the window came back matching the victim’s hair?”

I nodded, still chewing the hard biscuit.

Tim paused long enough to take a bite of his breakfast sandwich and gulp down some coffee.

I didn’t mind. I was starving, and not exactly in the mood to get to the grisly details. Besides, I couldn’t help but shudder when Tim spoke of the victim’s fur as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

After setting down the Styrofoam cup, he picked up the files. “The cause of death for the first victim was asphyxiation, after his throat was crushed. The mutilation was done postmortem.

The lack of blood at the crime scene made that obvious. One didn’t normally get their arm, and head torn from their body and not spew blood everywhere, unless they were dead when it happened.

“What about Gwen? Anything on her yet?” I asked.

“Cause of death was a broken neck.”

“So figuring out what they have in common isn’t hard,” I commented before downing the last of my coffee.

“Well no doubt. They are both purported to be werewolves … right!”

Tim was from Seattle, and still not too familiar with the island.

“And they were both descended from the founding fathers,” I added.

Staring at me through the thick lenses of his glasses, he shrugged. “I don’t know that would have anything to do with it. Most people around here are … right?”

“Well not exactly. There were a lot of survivors from that shipwreck. Not just the four men they call the founding fathers.”

I decided it best not to mention the curse just yet. Tim and Ayden thought I was dazed and confused half the time already.

“Will you let Fontaine know I’ll be a little late today? I have a couple people I want to question.”

“I guess that’s as good a way as any to get out of being late,” he laughed.

“He just throws a fit because he misses my company.” I shrugged.

“Yeah right,” Tim came back, a lopsided grin on his face. “Just remember to take along your phone and your piece. The last thing you want is to get into trouble again, with no way to call for backup.”

Groaning inwardly, I nodded.

Leave it to Tim to remind me of my bad habit of not following protocol, and getting into trouble because of it. He was never going to let me forget that one single mistake when I got treed by a dog, and had no phone with me to call for help.

* * *

Getting to my granny’s house was an adventure in itself.

The Osborn mansion was located on the west side of the island, and was set far back from the road.

Granny always said it was hidden to keep prying eyes away. It wasn’t that the family was weird or anything; we just liked our privacy.

Well maybe we were a little weird, but that’s beside the point.

It did seem that my Osborn ancestors had been overly worried about protecting the secrets of their craft.

But with an island full of witches and whatnots, maybe it was best to keep one’s craft hidden. If the wrong witch should get a hold of some secret family spell, that could end in disaster, for us anyway.

The old gothic mansion sat on top of the highest cliff on the island, which provided an awesome view of the sea. If it weren’t so spooky, I would have liked it as much as I did the Moreland place. As it was, it reminded me of a house you’d see in an old horror flick.

From a distance it wasn’t so bad, but the closer you got, the more the house’s decay became apparent.

Keeping up with an old house the size of Osborn Manor, which was what the old homestead was referred to locally, required a small fortune. Money was something Granny Stella didn’t have. My grandmother managed off Grandpa’s retirement, and the token payments she received from the readings she did for locals. She also sold magic
potions out of her house, but that didn’t bring in much either. With an island full of witches, competition was fierce.

Of course Uncle Aaron lived with her, but he was about as much help as Granny’s black cats, Dutch and Dilly. Granny Stella got some kind of warped amusement out of being a witch with black cats.

The driveway was actually a dirt road with a steep incline. Thankfully, we didn’t get snow on Mystique Island, otherwise the drive would have been hazardous during the winter.

The gardens around the old house were overgrown with weeds, and in desperate need of attention. I did my best to ignore the decay when I came to visit. It wasn’t that I didn’t help whenever I got the chance, but Granny would shoo me away. She wouldn’t hear of her granddaughters taking care of her, or her house.

As long as her greenhouse of herbs and other witchy plants were in order, she was good to go.

One day I’d have to hire someone to take care of the yard, but until then I’d try not to look at the overgrowth, and I’d definitely not think about what creatures might be hiding in it.

At one time the old house had been painted red and sported some fancy black trim, but the color had long ago faded, and now peeling away. Now it was just weathered gray, which was exactly how it looked when Annabelle and I had come to live with Granny.

Climbing the stairs to the huge covered porch, I noticed they were creaking more than they had last time I’d visited.

I had just lifted the old brass knocker when I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Someone was watching me.

Hesitating, I looked around, but there was no one. Still, the feeling persisted.

I knew there were a few spooks hanging around Osborn Manor, but they’d never given me the heebie jeebies like this before.

Ignoring the feeling, I knocked.

Instead of waiting for Granny to come to the door, I walked in. “Granny! You here?”

“Back here Pumpkin Pie!” she called from the kitchen.

From the time I was old enough to walk and talk, Granny Stella had called me Pumpkin Pie. She said it was because I had way too much spice in me to just be a pumpkin. I didn’t mind being referred to as a food too much, as long as she didn’t do it in public, which she did do every now and again.

Like most houses of its time, the front door opened to a foyer, which led into a long hall, with several rooms to each side. The kitchen was at the back of the house.

I found Granny Stella flipping pancakes at her old, 1950s antique stove.

“Just in time for breakfast,” she chimed.

Stella Osborn was the picture perfect,
Normal Rockwell
grandmother. She wore her long graying hair in a bun, and was constantly in a flower print dress. She also wore those cute little aprons, depicting various foods.

That was the granny I knew, but from what I’d heard, when she was younger, Granny had been quite the looker.

As a young woman, she’d always dressed to kill. In those days she’d dreamed of going to Hollywood.

I had no idea what changed her mind, though I guess it could have been falling in love with Grandpa.

Granny was already pouring me a glass of milk.

Holding up a hand to stop her, I said, “I already had breakfast, but thanks anyway.”

“Nonsense! Since when do you pass up fluffy buttermilk cinnamon pancakes?” she frowned.

Well, since never, but I’d been meaning to start watching my diet better. The only thing I’d be watching if I ate breakfast twice in the same day, is my backside growing.

“Okay,” I shrugged. “But just one or two.”

“That’s my girl.” Granny Stella beamed.

Pulling out a chair, I sat at the little round wooden table Granny kept in the kitchen. “Have you noticed any strangers hanging around lately?”

Before I could get the last word out, she already had a stack of pancakes and a bottle of warm cinnamon syrup in front of me.

Granny shook her head. “No one has been around here, except Elsa. Why do you ask?”

Shrugging, I swallowed by first bite of pancake. “I thought I felt someone watching when I was knocking on the door.”

“Well maybe the old family witches think it’s silly that you knock at all,” she suggested.

It was my turn to shake my head. “It wasn’t like that. It felt threatening.”

“Hmm … too bad they turned off your power when you came back from the dead. You could easily find out if someone were following you,” she grumbled.

Granny wasn’t the least bit happy about me trading my witch power for a set of black wings. It wasn’t a fair trade at all, as far as she was concerned. I couldn’t get her to understand that I’d be just plain dead, if I hadn’t agreed to the switch.

I still had my psychic power, but now I couldn’t cast a spell to make a flower bloom, even if it were spring.

An Osborn witch without power was the most ridiculous thing Granny had ever heard of. Not that all Osborns were born with witch juice, but most were.

“Maybe you could do a discovery spell and find out if someone is following me?” I suggested.

Granny arched one perfectly shaped gray brow, “You still have the third eye. It shouldn’t be too hard for you to figure out on your own. Ask one of your ghost friends.”

That was Granny. If she could make us do things the hard way, she would.

Granny Stella was always there for us, but she didn’t coddle us at all. She figured that if you got soft, that’s when you’d be eaten up by misfortune.

Mostly she got that attitude from what happened with our mother. She’d turned from her roots and moved away from Mystique Island. Mom was an Osborn witch, but she’d preferred to live as a regular, everyday person. Granny was sure that if her daughter hadn’t turned up her nose at her birthright, she’d be alive today.

“So how did you know I would be dropping by today?” I asked.

The only answer I received was a shrug, but Granny’s green eyes were twinkling with mischief.

“Why don’t we talk about
why
you dropped by?” Granny suggested.

Downing the last of my milk, I set the glass on the table. “What do you know about the town curse?”