My smile had way too many teeth in it, and Victor was wolf enough to know it for the threat it was.

  “Just business? Alright, Victor, I’m curious. Exactly how much business was that girl’s life worth?”

  He froze, his brow furrowing like he was trying really hard to think. “Wait, what? “

  I leaned forward, getting too close to his face. “Did you work it out on a calculator? Exactly what it was worth to kill Bryony?”

  Victor reared back, alarmed as he held up his hands and shook his head. “Wait, wait, wait, I didn’t kill anyone! What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the murder of Bryony Reid, apparently your enemy’s daughter,” I snapped. “Keep up.”

  “I didn’t kill Bryony!” Victor stared at me, aghast. “I thought you were talking about the land plot, over by the Blue Moon.”

  What in spell was he now going on about? My patience, never one of my many virtues, strained a little thinner. “Explain. Quickly would be best.”

  Victor pulled a rag off the corner of the desk and mopped some of the sweat off his face. It left a big smear of what I assumed was car polish on his forehead, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “Okay. There’s this big plot of land, just west of the motel that went up for sale, right?” Victor made a vague gesture towards the wall, like he was directing me. “Tom wanted it, so he could build a swimming pool or some crap, I don’t know. But that’s good land, so I maybe slipped someone a few bucks to make sure the owner sold to me instead.”

  I must have been making some kind of unpleasant expression, because Victor blanched.

  “L-look, I wanted to build another car wash, with a fuel station. That area gets a lot of traffic, especially for tourists, right? It’s just business. Sure, Reid didn’t like it, but them’s the breaks, right? I didn’t touch his kids. I wouldn’t do that. Especially not a female. She was cub-bearing age, yeah? I wouldn’t have hurt her! You gotta believe me.”

  And just like that, I went from mildly irritated at wasting my time, to maybe wanting to see if I could actually scare him into wetting his pants. Cub-bearing age? Ugh. Because that would be the only reason it wasn’t okay to murder a young woman.

  Whatever. Clearly, Victor didn’t have anything relevant to share with me, and I’d already been stuck in that room with him long enough. The overwhelming smell of sweat, stale coffee, and whatever cheap cologne Victor was wearing was giving me a headache. I wanted out of there. And to maybe take a shower. Or three. I didn’t even bother with forcing him to sit through a witch’s version of a polygraph test. I could see the truth right there on his face. He wasn’t guilty.

  “Ugh,” I groaned and gave him a frown that said I was annoyed I’d wasted my time.

  Relief set in on his face, and a hint of the arrogance he’d had when I first showed up. Victor’s lip curled up, ever so slightly, and I knew he was going to try and mouth off, to get back some of his own, so that when he regaled his canine buddies about what had happened, he could spin it like he’d scared some ‘little witch’ off.

  Before he could open his mouth and try my patience any further, I leaned forward, bringing our faces close.

  “If I find out you were lying to me, Victor? Instead of a wolf, you’ll be turning into a Pekinese on the next full moon.”

  He wilted back into his chair, proverbial tail tucked between his knees.

  Had I needed to do that? No. But it did make me feel a little better when I stalked out of the office to get back in my car.

  One suspect down, and the night was still young.

  ***

  I eventually tracked down Jackson, the groom, slumped over a bar stool at the Half-Moon Bar and Grill.

  It was a quiet night, as far as things were ever quiet here, long after the dinner rush, with no live performances booked. Jackson was propped up with one hand under his chin and surrounded by so many empty bottles that anyone who wasn’t a werewolf would have been on route to the hospital.

  Roy was tending the bar and keeping an eye on Jackson, if the way he was polishing the same glass over and over was any indication. He nodded when he saw me and jerked a head towards the semi-aware werewolf when he saw where I was heading.

  “He yours?”

  I made a face, wrinkling up my nose. “Spell no. I just need to talk to him.”

  Roy shrugged, tossing the pristine dish cloth over one shoulder as he went to busy himself at the other end of the bar. “Tell him he’s cut off.”

  I lifted a hand in answer and slid onto the barstool one over from Jackson. The smell of alcohol slapped me in the face as I sat, and I almost gagged at how strong it was. First Victor’s cologne, and now this. How did creatures with enhanced senses go around dousing themselves with such horrid smells? Or was it like with dogs, where they could roll in rotting fish and act like it was Coco Chanel? Thank the Goddess I hadn’t been born a were.

  I grabbed a couple of coasters off the bar and made a rudimentary fan in order to (not so subtly) try and bat the smell back in the direction it was coming from.

  “Jackson?” I finally prodded when it became extremely obvious that he was off in his own little world and probably hadn’t even noticed me sitting down.

  It took him a second, but then he twisted around to face me and almost fell off the stool in the process. He blinked, one of his eyes closing slower than the other. “Who’re you?”

  I sighed, feeling really put upon. Dealing with drunks while sober was never fun. It might go a little better if I got a few cocktails of my own, but then that would mean that I was drinking with a potential murderer, and that just didn’t seem like a good idea. Plus, I had to drive home. And I’d already had one car accident that had nearly killed me, so I wasn’t in the market for another one.

  So, none for me. But why was Jackson tying it on so hard for a girl he hadn’t even wanted to marry? Was this what a guilty conscience looked like? Or was this just a normal Wednesday evening for him?

  One thing that did appear fairly obvious: he wasn’t really in any state to be questioned. Then again, I wasn’t a cop. And besides, wasn’t there something to the old saying in Vino Veritas? There was truth in wine. Maybe he’d spill something good, and I could dump it all on Taliyah and go home and sleep for about a week.

  “Who I am isn’t important.” He probably wouldn’t remember it even if I introduced myself, so why bother? “I want to talk about you.”

  “Me?” I could almost see the thoughts limping their sotted way across his brain. The poor things were struggling hard. “Talk about what?”

  He hiccupped, lurching on his stool. I’d always assumed that was just something that happened in cartoons.

  Drunk people could be unpredictable, so I’d have to watch my step, at least a little. Jackson might be an angry drunk and start something that would get us both booted out of the bar. Or he might be a weepy drunk, like Roy’s girlfriend, Fifi. She was oddly morose after a few cocktails, especially for a succubus. Usually when the Black Cat Cocktail Club met up, by the end of the night, at least one of us would end up patting her consolingly on the back for some reason or other. On one memorable occasion, it had been because the frog drawn on the label of a bottle of rum had looked ‘sad’, whatever the spell that meant.

  As far as I was concerned, tears were worse than anger, or at least more annoying. If Jackson got fighty, Roy was less than ten feet away, and as a Sasquatch, he was quite capable of hurling a werewolf Jackson’s size out the door like a javelin. Actually, that might be entertaining to watch...

  “Well, Jackson. I’d like to talk to you about a wedding.”

  A provocative statement? Maybe. But I wanted answers, and I didn’t have all night to get them. He’d either get mad, confused, or weepy, and then at least I’d know what to do to handle it.

  Jackson stared down at his hands for a long time, then picked up one of the bottles in front of him and tried to take a sip, only to thump it back down on the bar when he realized it was empty.

  “Wedding’s canceled,” he mumbled, running a hand over his face. “No bride.”

  He was hard to read, as soused as he was. He wasn’t gloating, but he also wasn’t acting like it was tragic, so it was hard to get a pin on where to go from there.

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  Jackson tried to catch Roy’s eye, lifting his bottle up like a child trying to get a parent to notice a boo-boo. Roy angled himself away, pretending not to notice, and Jackson slumped down on his stool, crestfallen.

  “My parents were right.” He wobbled, a little precariously, and I thought for a second, he was going to collapse onto the floor, but he righted himself at the last moment. “It’s time for me to get serious. To settle down with a woman who can give me cubs.”

  Cringe. I made a face, but Jackson didn’t seem to notice.

  “I thought that woman was going to be Bryony. It sucks that she’s dead. I mean, as women go, she seemed okay.”

  Well, I hoped Jackson wasn’t in charge of the girl’s eulogy. Jesus.

  Jackson swayed again. “I even broke up with my girlfriend to be with Bryony. Wouldn’t be right, getting married when I was still dating someone else, you know?”

  I stared at the half-wit and thought for a second about cursing him to grow a tail. But that probably wouldn’t go well, especially since Roy basically was the Council, and they got unreasonably naggy about blatant usage of magic in public. Spoilsports.

  I drummed my nails against the bar, wanting the whole conversation over. “Was your girlfriend upset?”

  “Brooke?” Jackson blinked again, leaning ever so slightly sideways. “Oh, she was devastated. It broke her heart. Poor girl.”

  Who could blame someone for being upset about losing out on this charmer? “Was Brook human?”

  Jackson wrinkled his nose up. “What? No. She’s a nymph.”

  That was interesting. I was surprised that Jackson could pull a nymph, but then again, I wasn’t seeing him at his best, maybe. Hopefully. “Did you hurt Bryony, Jackson?”

  “What?”

  “So you and Brooke could still be together?”

  His eyes widened, and he lurched in a way that made me scramble clear in case he was going to puke.

  Jackson grabbed for my wrist, hanging off my arm with both hands. “No! God no! I’d never hurt Bryony. She was–” He belched and tried again. “She was going to be the mother of my cubs.”

  Now I was going to puke. Way to reduce an entire person’s life solely to their ability to pump out puppies. Blech.

  But he seemed sincere. And I had a new possible lead in Brooke the Nymph. A jealous ex would have motivation to do away with a rival, and growing up in a coven made me extremely aware of just what lengths a petty woman would go to.

  Still, it was a shame. Two interrogations and not one confession. I’d really thought this would all have wrapped up a little quicker that it was.

  As to the drunk? I was pretty sure he wasn’t lying. To be honest, I wasn’t sure he had enough brain cells left to come up with a lie.

  “Aright, well, this has been disappointing.” I straightened out my skirt and tossed my hair back. “Maybe call someone to come and pick you up before Roy pours you into a bucket.”

  I turned and stalked out of the bar, with just a wave of goodbye to Roy. I would have been a bit more personable to Jackson, he’d just lost his bride after all, but considering the best he could drag up was that she ‘seemed fine’, I doubted it was a love for the ages. And, besides, he was a moron.

  I did a little bit of stewing on my way back to Lorcan’s. As much as I wanted to keep going, keep hunting down whoever was responsible, the sun wouldn’t be long in rising. Plus, Nymphs tended to be day-time people, and I doubted one would be particularly chatty if I banged on her door at quarter to sunrise.

  And, okay, yes, I was a little annoyed that I’d checked my phone before I pulled away from Roy’s, and Lorcan hadn’t texted me—not even once. I wasn’t home, and he didn’t even know it. The undead jerk.

  I wanted to solve this case, fix my reputation, and maybe get Bryony some actual justice, since she seemed to be surrounded by people who only cared about her in so far as what she could give them.

  And then I could go kick my husband in the butt until he told me what the spell was going on with him.

  What I definitely did not need was to turn down one of the side streets, only to find a tree down across the road.

  “Son of a witch,” I hissed between my teeth. Where had it come from? There hadn’t been any storms, and no wind above a gentle breeze. But there it was, looking like the victim of a tornado, blocking both lanes, and too big for my car to drive over without ripping into the undercarriage like a chainsaw.

  Ugh, I did not need this. I threw the Escalade into reverse, figuring I’d just take another street and loop around. It would be slow and annoying, but I’d still get home in time to miss the sunrise.

  Before I could start backing up to turn around, I saw a flash of movement in the trees on either side of the road. Close to a dozen men then stepped out into the road, surrounding my car and effectively boxing me in.

  I was trapped.

  Chapter Ten

  What the spell was going on? Who were these people?

  I caught a glimpse of one of them in the car headlights, and his eyes backwashed gold. Werewolves, then.

  The few faces I could make out were familiar. I was pretty sure I’d seen them all at the wedding. And, yes, there was the man who’d been comforting Thea after Bryony had been discovered—Mr. Reid himself. Wonderful.

  Three guesses why a bunch of Bryony’s male relatives would come to talk to me on a deserted road at night, and the first two didn’t count. Well, if it was a fight they wanted, then frankly, I was game. I’d been simmering in my frustrations all night, and I wasn’t about to take the fall for something I hadn’t done. Plus, it seemed like I was the only one who cared enough to figure out who had really killed Bryony.

  They weren’t here for justice. They were here because their egos had been hurt. True, I was here to clear my name, mostly, but Bryony was their family member, for spells sakes.

  Well, I wasn’t quite sure how that bunch of meatheads thought their little ambush was going to go, but I also wasn’t interested in playing. The mild catharsis I might get from cursing them to next Tuesday wasn’t worth the aggravation.

  Instead, I threw the Escalade into reverse, and then floored it.

  My car lurched backwards, and for a second, I thought the idiots were actually going to stand their ground and get run over. It seemed that they’d gone ahead and pooled their collective braincells, though, and bailed out of the way at the last second.

  One of the younger, more impulsive ones lunged after my car as I sailed by, his hands twisted into a wolf’s claws. I almost gave the little idiot a jaunty little toot of farewell with my horn, but then I heard it.

  The crunch of metal. And then, when I kept moving, the side of my car gave a tortured scream, steel and fiberglass ripping apart. Son of a witch!

  All the blood drained out of my face, only for it to slam back into my cheeks as rage ignited behind my rib cage.

  My Escalade! Those idiots. They’d ripped my car!

  I slammed on the brakes and threw it into park before I burst out the door. “What the spell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how much a car like this costs?”

  To be fair, even I didn’t know. Lorcan had gifted it to me. That didn’t give anyone the right to trash it, though.

  I caught sight of the side panel and just about screamed. He’d dug his claws in and ripped through the back door, almost all the way to the gas tank. It was ruined. I didn’t even know if that kind of thing could be fixed. Oh, I was taking that mess out on someone’s hide. You bet your ass.

  Mr. Reid stepped up, and growled. His teeth looked way too long and sharp for his human mouth. “You killed my daughter. You think I give a damn about your car?”

  Yeah, that was pretty much where I’d thought the talk was going to go. I didn’t have a lot of hope that attempting to reason with them was going to get me very far—not with the cloud of fury they were all walking around in, but I gave it a shot, anyway.

  “I did not hurt Bryony. None of the spells on her nightgown were even slightly dangerous. Whoever killed her, it wasn’t me.”

  A low, basso growl I could feel in my chest, even from several feet away, was my only answer.

  I could have tried again. I could have gone for reason, done my best to deescalate the situation. But I’d been under a lot of stress, lately, partially because of the Reids and their rumor mongering. I had sympathy, grief does things to people, but they’d also just ripped the heck out of my car. So, maybe I didn’t try as hard as I could have to avoid the fight they were all itching for.

  The first one to charge with a snarl was a younger male, maybe Bryony’s cousin or brother. He was fast, strong, as most wolves were, even in their human shapes. I let him get about a half a dozen steps from me before I launched a blood bolt into his chest and knocked him flying back into the trees.

  I didn’t want to seriously hurt anybody, but that didn’t mean I was going to let them hurt me, either. My magic roiled beneath the surface, feeling like a lightning storm pressing against the inside of my skin. It was times like this when I noticed such a big difference from before I was blooded. As a witch, my magic would seep out and connect with the living things around me.

  As a Blood Witch, my emotions, especially my anger, tended to whip things up into a frenzy. Like my magic was eager to lash out, to have a target to sink its teeth into. Sometimes it was harder to hold back, the power turning scalding, like it would burn me from the inside if I didn’t erupt like a volcano first.

  Watching their relative go flying apparently didn’t convince the others to back off, because two more rushed me, their hands twisted into claws, their eyes backwashing gold in the headlights. No one had slipped their shape, yet, but I didn’t know how long that would hold out.