Chapter 3

Niamh Harpe shifted back from her were-panther form and walked naked down the lane the last hundred yards to her cabin on Wolf Creek Road in north-central Washington State. She liked to shift away from her cabin lest her panther-form cause the female striped skunk who lived under her porch to lose her mind.

The weather, typical of high mountain country, had started out sunny and changed to a cold driving rain that hinted of snow. She ignored the rain as she ignored the pain of the shards of gravel beneath her feet. Niamh never allowed discomfort to rule her.

The six-foot blue-eyed blonde was in a good mood. She’d had a good two-day run in her panther form. Her belly was still full of a careless mule deer buck she’d taken down the first day in a good stalk. Refreshed and reinvigorated, she was eager to get back to her latest vacation project, a large mural on a massive old growth cedar panel she was carving for a Seattle law office lobby.

Her good mood evaporated when she came within sight of her cabin and found two stocky middle-aged women standing by an elderly jeep. Their elaborate braided hair was as black as a crow’s wing, they looked enough alike so they had to be sisters maybe five years apart.

They smelled of Wolf-Kin.

She could also smell their uncertainty and fear—that wasn’t unusual. She was an enforcer for the police arm of Were-Council. Folk were often fearful around her.

“Singer and song bless you, Niamh Harpe,” the eldest said. “A fine place you have here.”

“Thank you, I like it.”

Niamh stood quietly watching them, waiting for them to tell her what they wanted. She couldn’t imagine what it would be. She worked for the Council, not for any individual pack or clan.

The eldest of the two licked her lips and spoke. “My name is Aiyana, and this is my sister Aviaja. Perhaps you could get dressed and then we could talk.”

Niamh sighed. Her carving was going to have to wait.

“Very well.”

She led them into her cabin.

“Have a seat, I’m going to shower and get dressed. I’ll be down shortly.”

The two women were looking around wide eyed at the interior of the cabin. Niamh smiled slightly at their reaction. She was proud of her home. Her great grandfather had built the cabin, and each successive generation had added on to it. Her contribution had been a new kitchen wing.

As she showered and washed her hair, she considered her visitors. They were probably from the Chelan Pack. The pack had a new Alpha. She had liked and respected the old alpha. She did not like the new one. He was arrogant, but all alphas were. His problem was that he was dumb and ambitious as well, a bad combination. Thankfully, it wasn’t her job to deal with him.

Niamh brewed the tea and placed cups and her grandmother’s good teapot on a placemat in the center of the ancient heart pine table that dominated her kitchen. The two women stood close together, eyes downcast, twisting their hands nervously.

Their submissiveness was irritating.

She gestured them to sit and poured the tea, making a ceremony of it to calm them.

Niamh spoke the blessing:

“May the Mother of All bless and keep us.” She took a ceremonial sip of tea and watched them nod in appreciation for the brew.

She waited to find out what they wanted.

Aiyana spoke. “My niece is missing. We’re afraid somebody abducted her. They say you search for the Lost Ones. Are they right?”

Niamh ignored the question.

“When?”

“Three days ago, we were baby-sitting for my sister who had to be over in Seattle. We took little Katrinka shopping with us in Wenatchee at Old Navy. I went into the dressing room and when I came out, she was gone. Avi and I searched the store and the parking lot. But no scent of her anywhere.”

“How old is she?”

“Kat just turned eight.”

“Does she know how to shift?”

“Yes and no. You know how it is. At that age, the shift is painful-so the little ones are not always willing to go through with shifting back and sometimes they forget how to do it.”

“How long were you in the dressing room,” Niamh tried to build a mental picture of how things went down. Despite herself, she was interested. It was a puzzle. She liked puzzles.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Normal time, I guess. I wasn’t feeling well, so it couldn’t have been long.”

“Aviaja, what were you doing?”

The younger woman had tears in her eyes. “I was watching. I promise you I was. I had just turned my back for a minute and she disappeared.”

“What did the other folks in the store say?”

“They remembered nothing. They were having problems with a rude woman up in the front screeching about how she’d been cheated.”

The two women watched and fidgeted as Niamh digested what they had told her.

“What did your new Alpha say when you told him?”

“He said he’d look into it,” Aiyana’s lips thinned, “but I could tell he won’t do anything. Katrinka’s grandfather was the pack’s former Alpha. He’s playing politics. His position is stronger if she isn’t around to remind the people of her grandfather.”

Niamh agreed silently. The man was a slimy individual—that was exactly what he would do.

“Okay, I will look into it. I’ll keep in touch, but you be sure and call me the second you hear anything.”

“Her mother is missing too. Would you let us know if you see her?”

Niamh nodded.

The women were so pathetically grateful, it was uncomfortable. She sighed with relief when they drove off. Her home was her refuge. She rarely had visitors, and she liked it that way.

After they departed, she puttered around her kitchen cleaning up when her phone chimed a text message from her boss.

“Get on Zoom,” it read.

Damn Harlan. What the hell does he want? They’re going to ruin my vacation, sure as hell.

When Niamh logged on, she found both of her superiors, Mina and Harlan, looking back at her from a headquarters conference room in Bellingham.

“Greetings may the Singer and Song bless you, Niamh Harpe,” Mina said.

Mina Albright was ursa-kin—were-grizzly. A big woman with iron-gray hair and a determined mouth, she had a mind like a steel trap and little patience for fools. She was Niamh’s boss’s boss on the Council, the organization that governed all were-kin.

If Mina was the hammer, Harlan Hanks was the velvet glove that concealed it. He was a were-coyote known to his subordinates as, The Trickster. He looked like a nice, rather absent-minded uncle; the one who sent you odd Christmas presents—until you noticed how pitiless his winter gray eyes were. He was dedicated to the council’s goals and would sacrifice anything or anyone to achieve them. Niamh was careful to always plan an escape route in case he figured she needed to be the sacrifice.

Niamh trusted few people, especially anyone who reported to her grandfather.

She waited patiently to find out what they wanted.

“How much do you know about the Keeper’s Boy?”

Wow, that was out of left field.

Niamh took a couple of beats before she answered, trying to figure out where this was going.

“You mean Lachlan Quinn?”

Mina nodded.

“I’ve known him a while. I met him when I was thirteen. He grew up in Emory. I know he’s a vet, a combat medic, or more accurately a navy corpsman. He served several tours with the Marines. I heard they awarded him some medals, so he was good at what he did. I think he lives down in Seattle somewhere.”

“He grew up in Emory; is he a witch?”

“No, he’s mundane through and through. Old man MacLeish would have never allowed a witch under his roof.”

“Did you meet him,” Mina asked, “Keeper MacLeish, I mean.”

“Sure, I used to go with my grandfather to Emory. He introduced me on one of those trips.” Niamh shuddered, remembering the old man’s hawk-yellow eyes. “That old man could freeze the blood in your belly with a glance. He scared me silly.”

She looked at her two bosses who shifted their eyes from hers.

“Okay, what’s going on you two? Why the questions?”

“In a minute, Niamh. First, tell me how you met Lachlan Quinn.”