7. Emma

SEVEN

Emma

The werewolf led us through the cutest darn house I’d ever seen in my life, with wallpaper in all the right places, and splashes of coral colors everywhere. I legitimately wanted to snap pictures of all the kitschy things on the walls and tables, so I could buy some of them for my place.

This was a werewolf house? Man, I needed to stop judging supernaturals so quickly. In my mind, we were going to be walking into a place with concrete walls stained in blood. I wondered how one werewolf could viciously attack someone, and another one could live like this. I guessed I’d soon find out.

We arrived in a sunroom overlooking an extraordinary garden, rich with brilliantly colored flowers, some of which I’d never seen before. This was the kind of place where a person could snuggle up with a good book and let the afternoon sunlight fade away to evening. A place that someone built with love.

"Sit down, please." Andrew gestured to the wicker chairs in his sunroom, his accent making the offer sound even more pleasant. "Tea?"

"Thank you." I settled into one of the chairs. The room was surrounded by windows, and sunlight poured in, warming my skin.

"Your home is charming." Beth looked around.

"Thanks, it's cozy." He smiled, placing the tray on the table and pouring the tea.

"Is that chamomile?" I asked, sniffing the air.

"Spot on," he nodded, handing me a cup.

"I love it. It helps with the nerves." Beth took her cup with a grateful nod.

"We surely need it after last week," I muttered, blowing on the tea before taking a cautious sip. It was just right, not too hot, not too strong. But then, the English really know how to make their tea.

"Can't argue with that," Andrew said, sitting across from us with his own cup. "The sheriff was here earlier, asking questions."

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Typically, the sheriff always seemed to be a few steps behind us, or not even on the same playing field, but this time he had days, or weeks, more time. It only made sense that his investigation would lead him to one of the only werewolves in the area.

"Did he come by about the attacks?" I hoped I wasn’t too obvious when finishing for information.

"Exactly." He scooted back in his chair. "I told them the same thing I'm about to tell you."

The door to the sunroom creaked open and a man in a broad-brimmed hat and gardening gloves walked through. He was tall, with ginger hair, and more than a scattering of freckles across his pale skin. He nodded at us briefly, but I didn’t get the impression he was happy that we were interrupting this little slice of paradise.

"More visitors, Andrew?" He paused by the doorway.

"Ah, yes." Andrew looked up from his tea. "They're here about the recent attacks."

Andrew nodded toward us. "Ladies, this is my husband, Jeramiah.”

We stood and held out our hands, introducing ourselves. He took our hands, shaking firmly, his gaze assessing. He wasn’t impolite, more like a man dealing with his husband’s unwanted business associates.

"More questions?" The man frowned for a moment, then shrugged. "I'll leave you to it. Plenty to tend to outside."

"Sorry to take up your time," Beth said with genuine concern as she watched Andrew's husband head out into the brightness of the garden.

Andrew waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about him. Gardening is his sanctuary."

"Still, we're here digging up things that aren’t easy to talk about," she continued.

"Actually, this is a nice change." Andrew took a sip of his tea. "The conversation I had with Sheriff Danvers and that vampire detective was more... accusatory."

"Accusatory?" I echoed.

"They kept asking if I'd seen anything on my night runs, or if I smelled any different scents," he explained, setting his cup down with a soft clink.

"Like you're some sort of suspect." Beth frowned into her tea.

"Exactly." Andrew nodded. "But I have nothing to hide. And frankly, speaking with you both is far less confrontational."

"Who was the detective?” I asked.

"Vance Acheron.”

"The vampire detective?” The one who had a bit of a sweet spot for me. It made sense that they’d call him in for something as serious as this, but I wasn’t in the mood to have to deal with him on our investigation.

"Same one," Andrew confirmed. He glanced at Beth then back to me. "He came here, asking questions."

"Did he think you were involved?" Beth leaned forward, her interest piqued.

"Something like that," Andrew replied with a shrug. "But I told him exactly what I'll tell you. I haven't attacked anyone. I have been a werewolf for many years and have complete control over that side of myself. What’s more, I have a very happy life. A nice house. A great partner. A wonderful job. No debt. I would have nothing to gain by attacking someone and absolutely everything to lose."

Beth and I exchanged a glance, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

"Then, do you have any ideas about who might have done this?" I asked.

"Based on the photos, it's most definitely a werewolf, so you’re all on the right track as far as that idea goes," Andrew said matter-of-factly. "But beyond that… I don't know who would be roaming around, causing harm, but it's definitely one of our kind."

"Have there been any new werewolves in town?" Beth asked

"Not that I know of. And believe me, I'd notice."

Silence settled between us. I knew there was more we could ask Andrew, and I wanted to make sure we did it before we left, so we wouldn’t have to bother him again. I was a detective now. I needed to act like one.

"Do you have any idea why a werewolf would be doing this?" I asked, my fingers wrapped tight around the warm teacup.

He took a deep breath, his hands clasping then unclasping on the table. "There are two likely reasons," he began slowly. "One is that it's a newly turned werewolf who's lost control. They might not understand what they're doing or how to manage it yet."

Noted. And, honestly, the idea that someone might be doing this accidentally sat better with me than that someone was doing it on purpose to be cruel.

"And the other reason?" Beth fixed her attention on Andrew.

He looked to the floor for a moment. "The other possibility is far more sinister. It could be a werewolf attacking people on purpose."

"Intentionally?" My stomach churned at the thought.

"Yes. And if that’s the case, we’re dealing with something much, much worse." He shook his head. "But that seems far less likely. Being a werewolf and attacking people when you’re out of control in the beginning, is awful. You remember absolutely everything the next day. You remember the teeth, the claws, the blood… and it’s all so terrible that it stays with you forever. And then you remember what it was like when you were attacked and turned. The pure and utter horror. The sounds of your screaming. It stays with you, too, and makes you feel like you’re an even bigger monster.”

"Was it like that for you, Andrew? When you turned?" Beth asked.

Andrew's eyes held a distant look for a moment. "I was attacked many years ago, back in England," he said quietly. "The werewolf who turned me tore into me before I even realized what was happening. That night I truly thought was the worst day of my life, until I lost control during my first change. Both are horrors that I’ll carry with me forever."

"Is that why you moved here?" Those must’ve been terrible memories.

"Exactly. This town has always been more... open to those like us." He offered a half-smile.

"Must be hard, carrying that with you," I said.

He nodded, his face solemn. "It is. That's why I shift regularly. To keep the beast in check. If I don’t, well..." He trailed off, but the implication hung heavy between us.

"Angry and snappy, right?" Beth asked.

"Something like that." Andrew chuckled dryly. "But I make sure to do it far from the city, away from people."

"Sounds lonely," I murmured, thinking about how isolation can gnaw at a person's psyche.

"Sometimes. But it's necessary." He looked out the window where his husband was now kneeling in the garden, hands deep in the earth.

"Thank you, Andrew. Really, we appreciate your help," Beth said as she stood up, signaling it was time to go.

"Of course." He rose to see us out. "I wish I had more answers for you."

We stepped out onto the porch, and Andrew gave a wave before heading back inside. Walking down the driveway, I was suddenly having trouble seeing a werewolf as anything but a victim. I looked back at the house, then at Beth.

"Where do we go from here?" I asked, a sense of urgency pressing against my thoughts.

Beth shrugged, her expression as lost as I felt. "I don't know. I really don't know."