“This is tap water,” I say, motioning to the glass.
The weres exchange glances. I’m starting to think they’re doubting my brilliance. “We know that, boss,” the weasel says slowly.
Great. Now I’m the one looking like a moron. “If Ted bathed…” I take another gander at the room. “And that’s a mighty big ‘if,’ he would have used tap water.”
“That’s right,” the cougar says.
“And had he gone swimming in the lake or had that creature dragged Ted into the lake, he would smell like freshwater.”
“He wasn’t wet,” the female in the front says. “Only moist from sweat and body fluid.”
“What do you smell, Bren?” Emme asks. She clutches her small purse against her, as if it can somehow protect her from the gore. “Is it water?”
“Yeah, it is,” I say. “Saltwater.”
The weasel cocks an eyebrow. “We’re a pretty long ways off from any ocean, boss.”
“I know. But it’s what I smell.” I toss him the knee.
He takes it and takes a sniff, then another one, and another one after that. There’s a reason I’m known for my nose. I pick up on more than the average were. “He’s right,” the weasel says. “Dang. I wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t pointed it out.”
The weres pass the body part around, all taking their time with it, their gazes lighting up when they catch traces of the ocean.
Emme slips off the stool. “Does this help you identify what it might be?”
“No,” I admit. “It just makes this thing that much messier.”
“How so?” she asks.
“Whatever is out there is a carnivore,” I reply. “All those pieces weren’t just a show of strength. It broke up Ted to eat him.”
“To…eat…him?” Emme asks.
The weres nod, they get it. Hey, and look at Emme go. She doesn’t puke, no matter how much she looks like she wants to. I pat her back, that’s my girl.
“Y’all. Something’s out there,” I say to the group. “Those with families, stay here and watch your own. Everyone else, split up into groups and start patrolling. Whatever is out there won’t stop with Ted. It’s hungry and still needs to eat.”
Chapter Eight
Bren
Emme and me hit the beach and head to where Ted was found. On the way, I call Koda and spill the details we uncovered.
“Any chance there’s a species of wereoctopus we’re not aware of?” I ask.
“Don’t be a dumbass,” Koda growls at me. “The only species of marine life are weredolphins ’cause their mammals and weresharks cause they’re predators.”
“So, how do you explain the bruises and crushed bones, sugar tits?” I ask. “The only thing I know that could do anything close to what happened to Ted are weregorillas or something in the ape family. Ted’s condition tells me there’d have to be an entire troop, except Emme and the others insist there was only one creature.”
“Damned if I know,” Koda responds. “And damned if I know how these witches are involved.”
Emme wraps her arms around herself and curls inward. She’s freezing. I tuck my phone beneath my chin and pass her my flannel shirt.
One of the females who lives in the complex has a daughter close to Emme’s size. She lent Emme jeans to trade out for her skirt. The jeans fit her frame well enough, and initially Emme was warm. Now that we’re on the sand, and the wind is picking up, she’s probably regretting not borrowing a jacket.
“Thank you,” she says.
My shirt is huge on her. I watch her roll up the sleeves and lift her hair, so it falls against her shoulders. She gave up on keeping her hair up. That’s okay. Emme has the best hair around.
The wind lifts the strands like gold streaming waves that flow around her. She looks dab smack in the middle of a photo shoot. But Emme isn’t the model type. Her features aren’t chiseled nor can she strike a pose. That doesn’t mean she isn’t beautiful.
“Did you hear me, numb nuts?” Koda asks.
“No, bitch,” I fire back. “The reception is bad. Repeat, asshole. I said, repeat.”
Koda sighs. Even from here, he knows I’m lying. He passes the phone to Shayna, muttering something about what a waste of life I am.
“Hey, dudes,” Shayna chimes in.
“Tell him I’m a sexy waste of life,” I instruct.
Shayna doesn’t laugh, like I expect, and her typical glee is absent in her voice. I hit the speaker button so Emme can listen in. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is,” Shayna says. “The witch parts we found all belonged to Lesser witches. Some have been dead only a few days. Others, well, it’s safe to say this stuff has been going on a long time, peeps.”
Emme huddles into the flannel shirt. “You said they were Lessers?”
“Uh, huh,” Shayna answers. “Not full witches nor were they still in school.”
“Were they ever in school?” I ask.
“Yes. One even attended Genevieve’s school, but she never graduated,” Shayna explains. “The other witches studied elsewhere, but also never achieved the title of full witch. Genevieve made inquiries with other covens by sharing their faces.” She groans. “Or what’s left of their faces. Like I mentioned, some of these bodies have been out here a long time. Four were identified by the head witch in the Tri-state area and two by a head witch out of Boston.”
“And none of them graduated?” Emme asks.
“Nope,” Shayna answers. “In fact, most didn’t make it past their first few years of study. From what Genevieve says, none of the ladies possessed much magic or skill.”
“So, they officially couldn’t belong to any coven,” Emme reasons.
“That’s right, and therefore didn’t have the benefits that come with belonging to a coven,” Shayna says. “Sure, they had head witches responsible for keeping them in line, but they weren’t considered ‘sisters’ or welcomed to their functions.”
I kick a rock out of my way as we continue forward, sending it flying into the water. “Without a coven, these Lessers were easy targets,” I mumble.
“Yes, and
