“Wait, no. If he shows up in the suburbs looking like that, there are going to be so many questions,” the police officer says. “I think we can make it look like an accident. Well, a hunting accident. Loretta. Loretta, listen to me. Did Matt ever go hunting?”
I nod slowly, as if all the words are coming from underwater. “Sometimes. He wouldn’t go now. It’s not antlered deer hunting season.”
“Where did he hunt?”
“Upstate New York or back in Michigan.”
“Well, he’s going bear hunting.”
“He only hunts deer. He’s a bow hunter.”
“That was his first mistake. You don’t shoot a bear with a bow. Ardy, open the door of his truck.”
I watch in awe as Alban raises his hand, and Matt’s body lifts. Blood drips. I can’t look.
But when I open my eyes again, it’s gone. I hear the truck door slam. People are talking outside, and some are coming into the house.
I keep still, holding the baby, watching things unfold like I’m in the audience at a horror movie I didn’t want tickets for.
Izzy Walsh and Ian Kane are cleaning the floors and rugs. Sweeping up glass.
A blonde man in wire-rimmed glasses sits me down in the kitchen and pulls out a medical bag. I have no memory of leaving the hall or rolling up my pant legs, but Izzy holds Arianna whilethe guy gets the glass out. When it doesn’t work with the medical supplies the man has, Alban hurries in and pulls the air—and the last glittering bits leave my body.
“What’s happening?” I ask, sounding dull and drugged.
“The magic users are transporting the truck to a remote hunting location where there are bears. By the time someone finds him, there will be no questions asked. They’ll assume he fought the bear, lost, and staggered back to his truck, but it was too late,” Ardy says.
I look at the police officer. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“It’s on the line. He was doing something illegal. Home defense, self-defense, and defense of a minor are legal. Werewolves are not recognized in the state of New York, and my writing this evening up would lead to police trouble for me, you,andJasper. Well, hassle, maybe, not trouble. And I don’t think you deserve that. If you’ll pardon the expression, your ex-husband effed around and found out. The real question is, are you and the baby okay?”
“Scared. Unable to comprehend. Sore. Sick. But okay.”
“We’ll stay the night with you,” Izzy offers.
I nod. “You’re a werehorse?” I look at the police officer.
“Pooka. Irish fae. Mythological and mischievous. Not a werehorse, but I can turn into a horse.”
“Or a really big rabbit,” Izzy laughs. He had to turn into one on our first date to prove I wasn’t losing my marbles.”
“Did you turn into a rabbit last night when you came over?” I demand.
“Busted,” Izzy sing-songs. “I told you that you sounded like a herd of bunnies running around upstairs when you did your ‘sweep.’”
I narrow my eyes. I can’t believe all this. I don’t. I won’t. Not unless I see it. “Show me.”
Ardy crosses his arms. “Alban said you’d faint.”
“I won’t faint.”
Ardy shrugs, and then a black rabbit the size of a corgi is sitting in front of me.
I don’t faint. I just have to close my eyes and lie down for a while...
Chapter Thirteen: Blood and Milk
She comes to see me.
