The Mountain's Shadow

I filled her in on Louise’s mysterious appearance. And death. But I didn’t tell her about the black wolf. In the light of day, I doubted my own perceptions.

Rather than showing any sympathy for my part of the ordeal, she only asked, “Why didn’t you wake me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were drugged asleep. Anyone else would’ve woken on their own.”

“Joanie, how the hell am I supposed to do my job with you withholding information like that? With you not letting me be involved?”

“Shit happens, Lonna. You can either be involved or not. If you’re going to keep yelling at me for seeing and hearing different things than you, it’s going to be not.”

“Fine, be that way.”

“Hey, you’ve got the first shot at the crime scene. The sheriff didn’t do much last night.”

She bit the corner of her lip and narrowed her eyes. “All right. Just don’t get in my way.”

“Oh, yeah,” I told her back as she went out the door. “He also said none of us could leave today until he comes back with the forensics team and gives us the all clear.”

She mumbled something I chose not to hear. I fixed another cup of coffee and went through the other door into the dining room and out on the back porch. The Adirondack chairs were still damp with morning dew, but I sat anyway, the chill against my back and legs helping me ground myself in reality. This reality.

Most of the back lawn was still in shadow, but I could see nothing out of the ordinary move. My heart still thudded against my chest, anger warring with unfulfilled sexual tension. Deep breath, Joanie. Cool morning air. Waves of green trees with traces of fall color. I had always loved the mountains in the summer but hadn’t seen them in the fall. My mother hadn’t allowed visits during the school year, and then in college and graduate school, I hadn’t had the time.

I wished for my grandfather to be there. He had never looked upon me with judgment, had never given unsolicited advice. If he’d been there, he would’ve drawn my attention to the interesting aspects of the morning. Like the black wolf. And Gabriel’s transformation.

It hit me, a lightning bolt of insight. The transformation. CLS intensified. I needed to talk to all the werewolves. And I needed to revisit that poor charred box. And see what data my grandfather had hidden in the house. Even though I hadn’t seen him in years, I knew he must have been looking into it from what Ron, Leo and Gabriel had said. Not that he’d made much headway, but maybe a fresh set of eyes—and more data —would help.

I could go through the information without leaving the property, and something told me Ron and Leo would reappear today. With a plan in mind, I went back into the kitchen for a third cup of coffee.

Gabriel was there eating a bowl of cereal while standing at the island. He had showered, and his hair hung in damp ringlets. Nothing like a shower to make one feel civilized. Had it been a cold one even after his morning dip in the stream?

He looked up when he saw me enter, his gaze cautious, and my heart sank. It would be a while before this awkwardness subsided.

“Breakfast, Madam?”

“Just more coffee for now. I’ll be working in my bedroom if anyone needs me.”

“If you would prefer, your grandfather left his study ready for you.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks. I’ll get dressed and be in there. Just let me know when the sheriff arrives.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Happy with my plans, I walked up to him and quickly stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

“Madam, about this morning…”

“I’m still figuring it out, Gabriel. We can talk later.”

He nodded, and a smile played around his lips. “I look forward to it.”

The study, the second room on the right after the library, was locked. I tried the smaller key that had been left by Galbraith, and it worked. The shades filtered the dim light, but even with such limited visibility, I could tell the room had not been opened in weeks. A stale smell hung in the air, and dust frosted every available surface.

I opened my mouth to call Gabriel, but then decided not to. It was obvious my grandfather hadn’t even trusted his supposed confidant with access to this room, so I decided to respect his wishes. First things first, though. I opened the blinds.

Dust motes swirled in the early morning light. An antique desk clock of polished wood and brass told me the time was seven twenty-five. I hadn’t been up that early since I’d gotten fired except for when Lonna woke me at the crack of dawn to come up here. If I’d known the trip would put such a strain on our friendship, I might have just slept in that day.

I put my cup of coffee on a cork coaster and looked around. The large mahogany desk sat in the middle of the room. Behind it, two windows and between them a fireplace. That might be a nice start, I thought. The air was chilly. The desk was flanked by two small file cabinets, but I knew what I sought would not be in such an obvious place.

Bookshelves lined the two walls. My grandfather had been an avid collector of rare, antique books and artifacts. One section caught my eye immediately. He’d collected books on werewolves, and along with more modern tomes was an early printing of Sabine Baring-Gould’s The Book of Werewolves, considered by many to be one of the definitive works on lycanthropy as far as the 1800s. The shelf also held works on related topics including doppelgangers, witches and vampires. In front of the books sat a small wooden figurine of a cat with emerald eyes. It winked at me in the morning light, but when I pulled out the books that sat behind it, there was nothing.

Puzzled, I replaced the book and the cat. The figurines my eyes had passed over previously stood out now, the books fading into the background. I had the silver cat on a chain, and then there was the wooden cat on the shelf. I thought back to how my grandfather and I would talk about the elements. Wood was an Earth material; silver could be Earth but could also represent air. So that meant I needed fire and water.

The scientist in me laughed at such a silly game. Elements? I hadn’t inhabited the world of fairies, elementals and magic since childhood. Nonetheless, I started at the window on the left and studied the contents of the shelves one by one. Although the next room was a large library, it was obvious my grandfather had kept many of his most beloved volumes here. There were books on herbs and plants, gardening, trees and other flora. The next shelf held the journals that had published my articles. It appeared as though my grandfather had found my work and subscribed to the journals hoping to read more. Galbraith had told me that he followed my career closely, and Gabriel that he’d done his own research as well, but this was concrete proof of his interest. At the moment, it was almost better than a hug.

The third shelf was the one with the wooden cat and werewolf books. Some of the volumes were in different languages including French, German, and some sort of Scandinavian language. He had done his homework on werewolf history and legends. The fourth and final shelf before the door held legal briefs and medical and psychological texts. On this shelf I found a glass cat candle holder, again with emerald eyes. I made note of it and didn’t touch it.

The shelves on the right side of the room held yet more books. Statistics, research methods… Even more than I’d gathered in my graduate school and research careers. There I found a cat statuette made completely of tiny seashells. It even held a miniature plastic fish in its mouth.

So those were my four… Mishka in the hollow of the tree. The wooden cat by the werewolf books. The candleholder cat with the psychology texts. The seashell cat with the research texts.

I found a spool of tape and put a piece on the shelves where I’d found the three cats. Then I pulled the book or books if the cat had been positioned at the border of two texts off the shelves and put them on the desk. I reached with my fingers but didn’t find anything behind them, just the smooth wood of the shelves themselves.

I sat in the large leather chair, dwarfed by its huge size. Charles Landover had been a tall man, about six and a half feet. Standing next to him, I’d always looked and felt younger than I was. Now, standing in his footsteps in the study, I had that feeling again, of missing something important because of being too short or not smart enough.