Wild Side (Dark Side Series: Book 2)

Eleven

In a moment over all too soon, a cold space pushed between the two of us. Snowflakes caught in my tangled hair. Caelan stepped away. Picking up the poinsettia from the ground, he brushed the snow from the pot's red wrapper and passed it into my hands.

"So," I began over the merry crinkle. The things I wanted to say hitched onto the back of my throat and stayed there.

The man tilted his head. "So...?"

Chewing my lip, I shuffled the plant under one arm to retrieve my cemetery map. I didn't know what to say, and looking at the pensive sheriff, wasn't sure he did, either. I cleared my throat and started again, this time with something easier. Let the conversation warm up a bit first, then come in with the ever so awkward 'so how's life since I destroyed yours?'

"How are you here, Caelan? Rowtag's—"

"—full of shit," he said. "Been cooped up in that filthy attic since the last maple leaf fell from the trees. When he isn't trying to curl his arthritic talons around a paintbrush, he's playing games. He amuses himself. There's an art to it, or so he'd have you believing. This..." He gestured between the two of us. "That mosquito bite you're nursing: all just a march hare's fun and games."

Not a comforting thought, but I guess the vamp had done well in taking advantage of an easy situation. Couldn't really fault him for being opportunistic, although my neck begged to disagree. "And you, you're working for him?"

"Was," Caelan consented, taking a moment to inform me that he knew the yard's layout well enough to not need a flimsy scrap of paper. "Won't be doing much more for the old bat now that you're here."

I creased the paper in my hands, started to put it away, then pulled it back out. "Why's that?"

He had a smile waiting on the question. "Didn't think you'd come along here unless you were looking for help, what with you being a pup still wet behind the ears."

"I'm not a pup," I said, returning his cheerful countenance with a soured frown.

"This time last year, what was it you were doing? Fixing up paintings?"

"Restoring them, but that's not the point. I'm saying I'm not a were—"

But Caelan was walking away from me. Snow crunched beneath his heels. I stepped after him in a hurry.

Beyond the werewolf's bright eyes, headstones loomed in frosty, uniform rows. Every so often a slopping granite marker was replaced by a flat stone or statue. The stones I didn't mind, but something about the statues, whether they be angels, animal, or otherwise, made my skin crawl beneath my coat. Even though I was plenty warm, I found myself shivering.

I rotated the map to match my stance in the quiet grave site. In the distance, a dim structure rose from the tombstones. The mausoleum was small, with a graceful dome that reflected the far-reaching light as if it were glass. Supposedly, if Rowtag wasn't making a game of this, too, my parents rested in the earth on the far side, where the old forest stretched its branches over the fences as if to reach down and snag the dead who fed its tangled roots.

"Car's warm," Caelan said, turning sharply. He was beside me in the length of a heartbeat, one hand on my shoulder, guiding me back.

My eyes stayed trained on the somber headstones. "What's out there?"

The lines in his face deepened. "Couple days ago one of the pines dropped a branch across the fence down the way. Haven't had a chance to repair it yet. Deer, fox and 'coons have been getting in. Nothing to be alarmed about, it just feels like something else came through tonight."