Bobby laughed. No one else did.
“How did you know that?” he asked.
“Silver bullets? Bitten? Cursed?” Raye rolled her eyes. “Have you completely missed every werewolf book, TV show, and movie ever made?”
“Apparently. Though I guess you haven’t.” He glanced at Franklin. “What’s your excuse?”
“I deal with things like this all the time.” He kept his gun trained on Raye’s “mom,” who had stilled at the sight of it. Raye stepped between them, then Bobby stepped between Franklin and her.
“Cass?” Franklin asked.
“I’ve got her.”
Bobby glanced over his shoulder. The voodoo priestess had produced a shiny knife from Lord knew where. It sparkled silver as the moon lifted beyond the trees.
“Is everyone slightly nutso?”
“Seeing is believing, Doucet.” Cassandra’s fingers flexed on the hilt of the knife. “And believe me, I have seen.”
“She’s not a werewolf.” Raye put out a hand and the knife flew from Cassandra’s palm to hers. She scowled at the blade. “What does silver do?”
Cassandra contemplated her empty fingers for a instant before answering. “If you touch her with it and she doesn’t burn, she’s not your usual werewolf.”
Raye laid the flat of the blade on her mother’s nose. The wolf gave a disgusted huff, but she didn’t burst into flames.
“See?” Raye handed the weapon back to the voodoo priestess.
“She might not be the usual werewolf, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t something else,” Franklin said.
Bobby turned to the man. “Are you really with the FBI?”
Franklin appeared offended. “Of course!”
“No one would dress like that on purpose,” Cassandra said. “He gets the specialty cases.”
“There really is an X-files division in the basement?” Raye asked.
Franklin cast her an annoyed glare, and Cassandra snickered.
“You’d better get the wolf out of here before my backup arrives,” he said.
Cassandra stopped laughing. “You didn’t.”
“Of course I did. What was I supposed to do after…” He used his gun to indicate the clearing.
“He’s right.” Cassandra rubbed her forehead. “The wolf needs to go.”
“Why?” Raye asked.
“Our boss is coming, and he’s the greatest werewolf hunter of all time.”
“Don’t start.” Bobby had just gotten his mind around the witches and now they were talking werewolves. When did it end?
“My mother is not a werewolf,” Raye insisted.
“Edward’s more of a ‘shoot now, figure it out later’ kind of guy.” Franklin peered into the trees. “And he’ll probably be here any minute.”
“Where was he?” Cassandra asked.
“He was on his way from Three Harbors.”
“That’s where my sister lives,” Raye said, just as Pru snarled.
“Sister?” Franklin asked. Then things started to happen all at once.
The wolf loped off. A few seconds later, several shots were fired in the direction she’d gone.
Raye shouted, “Mom!” and Bobby had to grab her before she ran off too.
“You need to go to the hospital,” he said.
“But—”
“She’s over four hundred years old. She can handle herself.”
“You don’t know Edward,” Franklin muttered, and Bobby cast him a stern “shut the hell up” glance. “I’ll give him a call. Tell him not to kill the un-werewolf.”
“You do that,” Bobby said.
“I’d feel better if Henry were here,” Raye murmured.
“He’s not?”
She shook her head.
Bobby wanted to ask if Genevieve was near, but cops and EMTs spilled into the clearing, and the next hour was spent arresting people and trying to explain what had happened without using the words spells, magic, voodoo, or werewolves. It was surprisingly harder than he’d thought. He let Franklin do most of the talking. The fed had had practice.
Raye left in the ambulance with Cassandra. He’d seen enough of the priestess to know Raye would be safe until he got back to her side. Once he did, he didn’t plan to ever leave again.
“Doucet!”
Chief Johnson had arrived. He didn’t look happy.
*
“Just who are you guys?”
Cassandra waited until the EMT finished putting in my IV and went to sit a few feet away with his clipboard. Then she leaned in close.
“There’s a group of hunters called the J?ger-Suchers.” At my confused expression she translated. “Hunter-searchers. They’ve been around since the Second World War; so has my boss.”
“He’s gotta be ancient.”
“He is. He began hunting werewolves, but as time went on, he branched out.” She lifted her gaze to the EMT, who was giving my vitals to the hospital—probably still half an hour away, even at this speed—by cell phone, then returned it to mine. “He’s gonna be pretty interested in this mess.”
“He isn’t a witch hunter too, is he? Because I have enough of those on my ass already.”
Cassandra’s lips curved. “He likes to employ the good witches.”
“And the not so good ones?”
Her smiled faded. “He doesn’t employ them.”