Supernatural Incarceration Unit
TEDDY
Very Late, June 22
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 sharpclang. 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 escortsme 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 theT’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.”
