Some mistakes can literally come back to bite you.
The Lycanthropy Files, Book 1
First it was ADD. Then pediatric bipolar. Now the hot behavioral disorder in children is CLS, or Chronic Lycanthropy Syndrome. Public health researcher Joanie Fisher was closing in on the cause in hopes of finding a treatment until a lab fire and an affair with her boss left her without a job.
When her grandfather leaves her his multimillion-dollar estate in the Ozarks, though, she figures her luck is turning around. Except her inheritance comes with complications: town children who disappear during full moons, an irresistible butler, and a pack of werewolves who can’t seem to decide whether to frighten her or flirt with her.
Joanie’s research is the key to unraveling the mysteries of Wolfsbane Manor. However, resuming her work means facing painful truths about her childhood, which could result in the loss of love, friendship, and the only true family she has left.
Warning: Some sexy scenes, although nothing explicit, and adult language. Also alcohol consumption and food descriptions that may wreck your diet.
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The two
letters arrived the same day.
I
expected the first: my official termination letter from Cabal Industries.
Having it in my hands, smoothing the creases, and looking at the stark black
print—Bookman Old Style font—on twenty-five pound cotton-bond paper, Robert’s
favorite for official business, made my heart thud. The company had been sold,
and my lab—with all my data and backups—had been immolated in a fire. The
conflagration and the expense of rebuilding my research program during a
difficult merger was the ostensible reason for my being fired, and no, I
wouldn’t forgive the pun. The company’s symbol, the black silhouette of a wolf
howling against a full yellow moon, cried out for me. “Unfair! Unfair!”
The
second letter held more promise. This one came on plain computer paper with a
name on top in block letters: Lawrence Galbraith, Attorney-At-Law. Two hours
later, I stood in front of a two-story yellow brick building off Markham
Street, just west of downtown Little Rock. A sign in the second-floor window
read, “For Rent: Commercial Space ”.
Mr. Galbraith didn’t have a secretary, but a bell rang when I opened the door.
After five minutes, I wasn’t so sure he’d heard me and began the internal
argument of whether I should knock on the heavy oak door that separated the
sparse waiting room from what I imagined to be the plush inner sanctum. I made
up my mind and walked to the door, but when I raised my fist, I heard a male
voice from inside.
“That’s
bullshit, Galbraith!”
“Mr.
Bowman, please keep your voice down.” This second one I recognized from the
telephone. I had spoken with him earlier. “Doctor Fisher is in the waiting
room.”
“I don’t
give a damn about Doctor Fisher.” He sneered my name. “Look, that land is ours
by right, and I don’t care if the old man never changed his will. And to bring
that overgrown—”
“How Mr.
Landover felt about you during his life is irrelevant if it is not on paper.”
Galbraith spoke over him.
“I’m sorry, Leonard. You and the others may have to
find other grounds for your sport.”
Leonard’s
next statement came out as a cross between a hiss and a whine. “It’s not sport,
Lawrence, and you know it. You’re the only one who can help us.”
“There’s
nothing I can do.”
I jumped
back from the door just before this Leonard person burst through it like a ball
of energy—dark energy. With his olive skin, dark wavy hair, and brooding black
eyes, he would earn a second look from most women. I barely got a first one as
he snarled at me and stalked out of the office. The bell on the door jangled
with the force of his exit.
“Doctor
Fisher, I hope Mr. Bowman didn’t disturb you.” Lawrence Galbraith looked down
his aquiline nose at me and pursed his thin lips. With his mane of gray hair
and simple black suit with a long jacket over a white shirt, no tie, he could
have stepped out of a mid-twentieth-century movie about an undertaker.
“He
certainly seemed upset about something.” I wanted him to say more about what
this brooding young man wanted with my grandfather’s estate, but he evaded the
implied question.
“Most of
my clients are, Doctor Fisher. If they’re not disturbed about something,
they’re dead. Otherwise they wouldn’t need a lawyer.” He held out a chair and
scooted it under me as I sat.
“I
understand. Now about my grandfather’s estate?”
I
expected him to do the lawyer thing and pull out a file bursting with paper and
tell me to look through it and see if I had any questions. Instead, he sat back
and steepled his fingers.
“I knew
your grandfather quite well, Doctor Fisher. He was very proud of Wolfsbane
Manor.” He studied me through narrowed eyes. “You visited there quite often as
a child, yes?”
“I spent
my summers there.”
“And
your twin brother?”
“It was
after my brother died. Andrew never knew my grandfather. It wasn’t until my
parents started fighting that my mother had the guts to visit him again.
Apparently he and my father didn’t get along.”
“He
spoke to me about the rift, how it broke his heart to lose his only daughter.
He told me you were a lot like your mother.”
When I
thought about my mother, I remembered the gentle hands that so quickly turned
hard when she slapped me. I hadn’t spoken to her since I had gotten my first
assistantship in graduate school and no longer needed her financial support.
“I don’t
think so.”
“How
much do you know about your grandfather’s estate?”
“I know
it’s up in the mountains and used to be really far away from everything. It
took forever to drive there on winding mountain roads. There’s a stream that
bubbles up from underground near the top of the hill where the house is, and it
goes to a river.”
“Anything
else?”
I
thought back and tried to untangle murky threads of childhood memory. “The
house is huge, old-fashioned, with a ballroom and a mural on the ceiling. I
don’t know what my grandfather did to earn his money, but he seemed to have a
lot of it and was careful spending it.”
“He was
immensely careful. Consequently, his estate, with house and property and all,
is worth five hundred million dollars.” He ignored my astonishment and
continued, “I told him he had plenty to share between you and your mother, but
he insisted the bulk of it go to you. Something about your research.”
“He
didn’t even know what I did.”
“Ah, but
he followed your career quite closely.”
“He did?
He always seemed so remote, especially after I stopped going up there when I
was in high school.”
“Yes, he
did. He was a researcher in his own right.”
“Is
there anything in there for Mother?” Guilt welled up. It’s amazing how
childhood training kicks in, like it was my fault he left everything to me.
“A small
annuity to keep her comfortable until she passes on.” He waved my concern away
with one hand.
“It won’t dent your fortune at all.”
“What am
I supposed to do with all that money?”
“Whatever
you want. I think you will find enough up there in the hills to keep you busy.”
“What do
you mean?”
“Have
you ever heard of the Landover curse?”
“The
what?” This was new. I remembered whispers about something wrong with Mother’s
side of the family from early childhood—worried conversations outside the room
where my brother and I slept in twin beds.
“If it
pops up, you’ll know. It supposedly skips a generation.”
“What is
‘it’?”
“You
probably have nothing to worry about, Doctor Fisher. I recommend you go and
claim your property as soon as you can. I can help you with arrangements to
break your lease and move your things from Memphis.”
“Okay.
No, wait, what? I can’t just move.” My head was in a fog, still worried about
the curse. What was the curse? Insanity? Some weird genetic disease? And
underneath all his assurances, Galbraith seemed worried. A little line had
appeared between his brows.
“…will
arrange to have movers pack and ship your apartment’s contents to the Manor,”
he was saying as he picked up the telephone.
“Whoa,
wait a second here.” I held up my hands. “This is too much right now. I can’t
just break my lease, pick up, and go.”
“I
understand.” He reached across the table and patted my hand. “You need a little
while to absorb all of this. But I assure you, it is imperative you move up
there and take possession of the property.”
My eyes
blurred with tears. “I don’t even know how my grandfather died.”
Galbraith
rubbed his temples. “I was afraid you would ask.”
“Why?”
“Because
I don’t know, either.”
When I
arrived at Bistro, a little French place in West Little Rock, my head was still
spinning. The key to Wolfsbane Manor was nestled in my purse between my cell
phone and my wallet on a keychain that read in bright pink letters, “So NOT a
morning person”. I had handed over the apartment keys to Galbraith, who assured
me he would take care of everything and I could expect my belongings in a few
days’ time. I’d tried to argue the hastiness of the move, but I may as well
have been talking to the stone lions outside the manor’s door.
Lonna,
my best friend, had arrived before me and sat in a booth along the wall. When
she saw me, she waved with one of her long, tanned arms, which looked
particularly dark in the white sleeveless top she wore.
“Somebody’s
been to the tanning booth,” I teased as we hugged. I only came up to her
shoulder, but I smelled the orange and coconut conditioner she used in her
long, dark hair.
“It’s my
guilty indulgence. I figure, with this job, it’ll be a miracle if skin cancer
kills me first.” Even though she meant it as a joke, there was something
serious in her topaz-colored eyes. A private-investigator-turned-social worker
with the Department of Family and Child Services, she didn’t have an easy job
to begin with.
I slid
into the booth across from her and picked up a menu. “What’s going on over
there?”
“Just
the typical bureaucratic bullshit. Not all that interesting, so you go first.
You said earlier you had big news.”
I opened
my mouth to reply, but she interrupted me.
“Oh, and
how’s Robert? You guys haven’t come over in a while.”
“We’re
not together anymore.” It hurt to remember our little road trips from Memphis
to recruit research participants from the Little Rock pediatricians’ offices.
“Did his
wife find out?”
“Worse.
I got fired, so no more excuses to see each other.”
“Ouch!
When?”
“I got
the letter today. I kept hoping there would be some sort of appeal or
something, but no dice. I didn’t want to tell you until it became official.”
The fact Robert hadn’t even stood up for me hurt the most.
“I wish
I could understand you, Joanie. How could you not tell me?”
“You’re
my best friend. You’re supposed to understand.”
She
didn’t fall for the guilt trip. “So was that the big news?”
“No, I
also found out today I inherited my grandfather’s estate, so I’ve got the
dinner check.”
“Congratulations,
but not so fast there, Fisher.” She gave me a stern look over the menu. “Let’s
tackle one thing at a time. You got fired. Tell me more.”
“It was
after the lab caught fire. They still don’t know what started it.” For a second
I thought I could feel the heat and smell the smoke from the blaze. Sweat
jumped to my forehead, and I had to take a sip of water. This was why I hadn’t
spoken to her about it in detail before—the memory made me panic.
“I’m
sorry, Joanie.” She reached across the table and put a hand on my arm. “You
don’t really have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
I smiled
at her implied question. “But details are important? You’re such a private
detective.”
She
grinned. “How else are you going to figure out what, exactly happened?”
“Good
point, although it’s not like it matters much now.” I took a deep breath. “One
night about a month ago, I was compiling data, pediatric charts, in our
statistical spreadsheet…” Just talking about it brought me back there. “I had
been sitting on a stool checking to make sure the information in the files had
converted into the correct columns in the spreadsheet when I heard my car alarm
go off. I jumped down, really annoyed because I was on the cusp of running the
first analysis, and my lab coat caught on the stool. Really caught. Like the
corner of it had somehow gotten stuck in the middle joint where you adjust the
height and then twisted in there. I turned to free it and was just giving it a
last tug when the smoke alarm went off. When I opened the lab door, the hallway
was in flames. I panicked. I shut the door and tried to go out the back way,
but the door wouldn’t open. It was getting hotter and hotter, and I started
coughing from the smoke. Finally I took the damn stool and threw it through a
window, I don’t know how.”
“You’re
a tough little thing.” Lonna rested her chin on her hands. “Even if you don’t
look it.”
Caught
in the story, I had to keep going. “So I jumped through and got scraped up a
little.” I rolled up the sleeve of my T-shirt and showed her my left shoulder,
which had a long, thin, barely healed cut. “That one was the deepest. Fifteen
stitches.”
She
traced it with a cool finger. “Wow,” she murmured. “So you got out?”
“I
thought that was it. I started heading to my car to shut off the damn alarm and
get to a hospital, but then I heard something behind me.”
The
waiter approached, and I jumped. “Oui,
mademoiselles?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
Lonna
didn’t even look at him, just gave the order for our appetizer and wine. “Brie en croute, s’il vous plait, et deux
Chardonnay.”
“D’accord.”
“Go on,”
she told me.
We were
getting into the realm of nightmares. “Honestly, I’m not sure whether to
believe it myself.” I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “I would rather not say
here.”
“Oh?
It’s not fair to keep me hanging, Joanie.”
“I’ll
tell you later, at your place, I promise.”
The
waiter brought our wine in tulip-shaped glasses—hers blue, mine red— with green
stems.
“So
anyway,” I said after taking a sip. “Hmm, a good Oaky California. You can tell
every time. You’d think they’d have French here.”
“So?”
she prompted.
“No lab
equals no work. No work equals no job. And that’s it.”
“How can
that be it? You were top in your field.”
“I don’t
know. Maybe someone found out about me and Robert. Or maybe they blamed me for
the fire, but I suspect it’s more about money. They just got bought, and
mergers mean layoffs. But enough about that. What’s going on with your work?”
Lonna
sighed. “There’s been this string of kids disappearing in this little community
in the Ozarks north of Mountain View. I’ve got to go up there tomorrow and talk
with the local social worker. As hard as I’ve tried to get out of the private-eye
business, you’d think they’d leave me alone.”
“Oh,
gads, that’s rough.” Hearing about stuff like that made my stomach twist. It
reminded me too much of Andrew.
“Sorry,
I know you don’t like to hear about the kids.”
“I just
don’t know how you do what you do, that’s all. What’s this little place
called?”
“Crystal
Pines.”
I set my
glass down a little too hard, and the wine spilled.
“What’s
with you?” Lonna arched an eyebrow.
“Wolfsbane
Manor, my grandfather’s estate, is up there. Crystal Pines—it used to be called
Piney Mountain—is at the base of the hill, the manor at the top.”
“That’s
really odd.” She swirled the wine around in her glass. “From the files I’ve
gotten from the case worker who lives up near there, the locals—y’know, the
ones who were there first before the yuppies moved in—are associating the ‘old
gentleman’s house’ with the kids going missing.”
A shiver
climbed up my spine. “How?”
“That’s
the weird part. No human footprints or anything. The kids just…disappear. When
they call the forensics guys out, it’s usually too late to get anything because
they always disappear outside.”
“No
‘human’ footprints? What about animals?”
“There
aren’t any big enough to take a child, so I don’t think they’re looking.”
“Wolves?
Coyotes? Bears? My parents always warned me to watch out for them.”
“The
only wolves in Arkansas are red wolves, which are too small to snatch
preadolescents. And if it was something like that, they would at least find…”
She cocked her head trying to find a nice way to put it. “Remains.”
“Point
taken. It must be a boring summer for them. No hiking, fishing, swimming…”
“It is
for the locals’ kids. They’re the only ones being abducted. If your dad drives
a Beamer, Mercedes, Lexus or Volvo…”
“You’re
safe?” I found that hard to believe. “So it can’t be wild animals then. They’re
not that discriminating. What do you have to do tomorrow?”
“The
case worker, a guy named Matt, wanted me to come and check things out for
myself. He’s worried the board isn’t going to believe him and wanted an outside
opinion.”
“Is he
single?” Lonna, like myself, had the most rotten luck in love.
“No such
luck. Happily married for thirty-four years.”
“Too
bad.”
The
waiter arrived again, so we ordered our main courses, Coq au Vin for me and Moules
et Frites for her. I didn’t realize until the waiter set the food down and
the aroma of red wine, spices, and hot, crusty French bread rose to my nostrils
how hungry I was. The food also gave me the opportunity to ignore Lonna’s
question, so she had to repeat it.
“Earth
to Joanie,” she called and poked me in the arm with a mussel shell. “What
happened with Robert?”
“You
would ask.”
“Of
course. Things seemed to be going so well.”
“Right.
As well as they could be with a married man.”
“I
thought he was separated?”
“He
was.”
“Is he
still?”
“No.” I
tore off a little piece of bread and stirred it in the thick maroon sauce. “I
think when Cabal got bought, he decided he’d better make nice with the wife in
case he lost his job and needed her to support him.”
“How did
he tell you?”
“Gads,
you’re merciless tonight, woman.”
“It’s my
job.” She winked. “That’s what my boyfriends like to tell me.”
“Well,
he called me into his office.” Images flashed into my mind of the long walk
down the sterile white hallways. “My shoulder was still in a sling so I
wouldn’t move it and open the wound. That arm was hidden under my spare lab
coat. He didn’t see it at first. When he did, he didn’t react like he normally
would have. You know, by jumping up and coming over to take care of me. A look
crossed his face… How to describe it? Pain? Regret for having to kick me while
I was down? I don’t know.”
“This
was after you’d heard your job was no longer there?”
“You can
say fired.” I took a sip of my wine. “It’s the reality of it. I was packing up
my office when he called.”
“Did you
know what was coming?”
“I could
hear it in his voice. He asked me to sit down, and he got up and closed the
door. I noticed he was limping a little.”
“Serves
him right.”
“No
kidding. So then he told me since we didn’t have any excuse to see each other
on a daily basis, he didn’t know if he could deal with that level of
deception.” I felt the all-too-familiar pressure of tears and my vision blurred.
“He said he respected me too much to start using cheap motels and made-up
business trips.”
Lonna
rolled her eyes. “Yet he didn’t mind the chair in his office.”
I smiled
a little, and a tear rolled down my cheek into the corner of my mouth. Its warm
track turned cold after a second. “So no more boyfriend. That’s what I get for
seeing a married man.”
“You
just had, what is it called? Where the mentee falls for the mentor.”
“Maybe.”
We both
took a sip of our wine, and I wiped my eyes with the napkin.
“Garcon.” Lonna signaled our waiter. “This
woman needs chocolate mousse.”
I looked
down at my half-eaten Coq au Vin.
“But what about this?”
“Take it
with you.” Lonna swirled the little bit of wine left in her glass. “You can put
it in the fridge and have it for lunch.”
That’s
one of the things I liked about Lonna. She made up any excuse for dessert. It’s
amazing she kept her model-like figure.
The
chocolate mousse came, and we talked about other things over coffee and
dessert. Before we knew it, it was nine o’clock, and Lonna raced back to her
apartment with me in tow so we could get up early to drive to Crystal Pines in
time for her ten o’clock meeting with Matt.
It
bothered me a little I hadn’t told her the rest of my story. Later, it bothered
me a lot. I don’t know if it might have saved her—and our friendship—but maybe
she would have been more careful. Or maybe I would have.
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. For an excerpt from further in the book showing Joanie and Leo's next encounter and more decadent food and wine, check out my publisher's The Mountain's Shadow page.
