Circle of the Moon (Soulwood #4)

The sheriff came with his deputies—five units and six uniformed county men and women—and three city units followed, all with lights and sirens, taking up the meager parking with the three PsyLED vehicles and officers. Any problem on church grounds was likely to create an excess of law enforcement, a development since the first time the compound was raided and children in danger had been taken into protective custody. The gunfight that came months later and resulted in loss of life and serious injury had only made things worse. And then there was the case of the kidnapped vampires, the abduction of their children, and the presence of devil dogs. The church was desperate to avoid entanglement with the law, but it seemed to happen with increasing regularity.

That didn’t stop the churchmen and churchwomen from gathering and standing silent, watching, including Daddy and the mamas. Mama was holding back Mud, keeping her away from me, but our eyes met and I gave a tiny nod, telling her I was okay. Except for family, the churchmen were staring at me, eyes accusing, muttering angry imprecations at the cops, all just loud enough to barely be heard, comments about witchcraft that had attacked their churchmen in clear violation of their civil right to worship as they chose. Their right to be protected from evil. Things about due process. Legal wrangling. Typical churchmen stuff.

The cops ignored them, which seemed to make some of the church folk madder, and to make things worse, the men on the ground began to rouse, complaining of headaches and demanding to know why they were tied up. Three of the Jackson coterie, my family’s enemies, showed up holding hunting rifles, and my heart began to race. Mama stepped back toward safety. Mud resisted. The deputies drew weapons and pointed them at the crowd. “Put the weapons down. Put the weapons down now!” the deputies shouted.

“Occam?”

“I’m seeing, Nell, sugar.”

Things looked as if they were about to escalate, and I glanced down at my chest. No shoulder rig. No weapon. Not that I’d be able to fire a weapon if things went south. I tried to make a fist, as if gripping my service weapon. My fingers didn’t close. I needed to find my service weapon. The crowd began to move in.

“You’un boys! Put them weapons down!” The words echoed across the church grounds. I knew that voice. It was Brother Aden, Larry’s daddy. “We are a people of peace. We will not attack law enforcement doing their duty. Put ’em down.” When no one moved, he roared, “Put ’em down or be sanctioned.” The three churchmen lowered their weapons and stepped back, disappearing into the crowd, which I figured was better than nothing. The cops didn’t chase them. Suddenly I could breathe again.

Brother Aden moved to his son, cuffed and bleeding, and the cops let him through. It looked like the brother’s heart was breaking as he stood over the still-comatose Larry. He shook his head, his lips firm and tight, turned his back on his son, and took a place beside the Nicholsons, shoulder to shoulder with Daddy and the mamas. Ben Aden joined them. Mud looked up at them both in surprise.

Now that the lines between church and law enforcement had softened, Mama and Mud shoved through the cops and came to me, Mama gathering me up in her arms. She pushed Occam away. “Thank you’un. I got her. It’s okay, baby girl. I’m here,” she whispered.

“Thanks, Mama,” I whispered back as Mud wriggled into the car and curled around my back.

“You’ll need to work on Nell’s circulation, Mrs. Nicholson,” Occam said, standing. He took in the church folk, who had been watching him rub my hands and arms. Angry church men seeing a stranger touch one of their womenfolk. I wanted to shoot the God’s Cloud crowd just for that presumption and possessiveness, but luckily my hands were not functioning and the world was still tipping and whirling. Mama started rubbing my hands, her fingers tanned and strong on my much-browner ones, her head bowed so I could only see the crown of her head. Beyond her, a small grouping of the crowd stepped slowly toward Occam.

Occam rested one hand on his holstered weapon. It was a reminder, a potent one, that he was a cop, doing his job. “Easy, boys,” he drawled, all Texan polite. “You folks keep back, please. Thank you. Back a little more.” There was just a hint of roughness to his voice that spoke of his cat, and the desire to slash with claws. I hoped that his eyes weren’t glowing golden. The churchmen would get all riled if they knew a werecat, a devil creature, was giving them orders.

Without taking his eyes from the crowd, he added to Mama, “Just keep rubbing her fingers and hands to get the blood flowing, Mrs. Nicholson.”

Mama rubbed harder and the pins and needles worsened. I hoped that was a good thing. “Did you’un make the vines grow here?” she whispered to me. “Did you’un make the tree attack Larry?”

I chuckled sourly. “No. It did that on its own.”

“Devil tree,” she muttered.

“Could be,” I muttered back, “but it saved me.”

I looked up as Occam walked to the other side of the small area, toward where Daddy and the Adens the other two mamas stood. His hand dropped from his weapon and his posture relaxed, letting me know that the human was fully in charge, getting ready to confront my daddy, who knew he was a wereleopard. A wereleopard who’d just had his hands all over me. Church courting etiquette placed that kind of touching as a claiming, as proof of an intimate relationship. Oh … dear. I didn’t know what Daddy or Occam was about to say or do, and they were too far away for me to hear.

An ambulance showed up on scene, and while Mama continued chafing my hands and arms, a paramedic cleaned up my head wound and argued with me about seeing a doctor for my concussion symptoms and finally muttered something about compartment syndrome and stupid cops. I didn’t tell her my reasons for not going to the hospital, and, with Occam having cut away my leaves, she had no point of reference for why I refused an MRI or CT scan. For the most part, I looked human. I’d have to think about that when my brain was working right again.

For now, I listened in on the chatter about which agencies should be called to investigate my kidnapping and charge Larry Aden. Since I was relatively unharmed, I hadn’t been missing for long, and the kidnapper hadn’t crossed state lines, the lead agency was up for grabs. Someone called the FBI, but for reasons not discussed with me, they declined to make an appearance.

As the discussions went on, the anger of the older members of the crowd began to diminish and the evidence gathering of the investigation into the kidnapping of a federal agent began. The cops took my story and, at Occam’s suggestion, questioned Sam. After that, things de-escalated rapidly. Fortunately, because the church had installed motion sensor cameras to protect themselves from outside attack and influence, one camera had caught Larry’s arrival and my removal from the trunk. Also fortunately, the camera had shut off after thirty seconds and hadn’t captured the growing of the vines and thorns and leaves. I had to wonder if that had been Sam’s action, if he had been watching the cameras when Larry drove up and that was why he got to me so fast. Sam didn’t volunteer the information and no one in my hearing asked for it. But once Sam brought out the video, everyone was more willing to talk, and seeing the footage went a long way to convince the cops that Larry was working alone and even further to convince the churchmen that Larry had been doing something criminal. Two of the churchmen told me they were sorry. Others backed away. Their attitudes were improbably respectful, unexpected for churchmen.

I realized that for most of the churchmen, I was no longer viewed as a runaway churchwoman. I was recognized by most as a federal law enforcement officer. Technically, I was no longer “fair game.” That understanding caused a curious heat to pulse through me, part shock, part something unknown.