Page 3 of Kin of the Wolf (Magnetic Magic #3)

3

The title for the article under the photo of the apartment complex was “Ghost Dogs Feature in Speculation on Sylvan Serenity Murders.”

I pushed my hand through my hair. This wasn’t the first article that had been printed in the aftermath of the deaths of the thugs who’d driven down here in Teslas, shooting rifles out the windows in an attempt to kidnap me and kill Duncan. Murders was a strong word for their fate since the killings had all been in self-defense. The choice worried me. Previously, the deaths had been labeled as freak animal attacks, with nobody implicated. No humans , anyway. Since the authorities didn’t acknowledge the existence of werewolves, they hadn’t brought them up, at least not that I’d heard. I didn’t know what Bolin had told the police when they’d questioned him, but I doubted he’d mentioned werewolves either.

“Ghost dogs?” I asked. “That’s worse than the article about lions.” That had been published the week before. “Where are people coming up with this stuff? There’s no evidence to support lions or ghosts.”

Maybe I should have been pleased the hypotheses were off the mark—what would I have done if an article had called out werewolves ?—but I mostly wanted all discussion of the apartment-complex deaths to disappear. Weren’t there other more recent crimes the journalists could write about?

Bolin shrugged. “People don’t like unsolved mysteries. They need explanations. One of my professors liked to say that in the absence of facts, we will make up stories to explain things that allow our world views to make sense. Sometimes in the presence of facts too.”

“I guess. Well, this doesn’t really change anything, right? It’s just more speculation. Implausible speculation.”

Something about Bolin’s expression warned me that I was wrong, that it did change something.

“My parents saw the article,” he said grimly.

“Oh.” As the ramifications of that came to me, I repeated a softer, “Oh. Had they, uhm, not seen the earlier ones?”

“They’ve been out of the country. I told them there’d been an incident on the premises, but I didn’t go into all the details over the phone. I don’t know all the details since I wasn’t there for it. I mostly pointed out that crime has been on the rise in the area.”

That was true, and not all of it had to do with me. I was fairly certain the motorcycle gang that had come through in November hadn’t been my fault. The riders hadn’t been paranormal in any way, and they’d vandalized the parking lot before I’d uncovered the magical case or reconnected with my werewolf family.

The rest of the “crime” around the complex, however, had been my fault. Maybe in a roundabout way, but it had only happened because I lived here. My cousins and Radomir and Lord Abrams had all been after me for one reason or another.

“My parents might come by to talk to you later,” Bolin said. “They didn’t say when.”

That prompted my third, “Oh.”

Over the twenty-odd years that I’d worked as the property manager and, less officially, handywoman, I’d rarely interacted with the Sylvans. Usually, their businessperson Ed Kuznetsov was my contact, and even he didn’t come by that often. Typically, we spoke on the phone when something came up, which hadn’t been frequent. Until my life had grown insane with artifacts and belligerent family members, I’d run the place smoothly, taking care of almost every detail about the complex and operations.

“It wouldn’t be to talk about that article specifically,” Bolin added, “but about the increased crime and the deaths. Nobody’s come forward to press charges or anything, but they’re worried because people died violently on one of their properties.”

“Yeah.” I hoped I wasn’t about to lose my job. Even if the pay wasn’t great, I’d grown comfortable here, and I liked the work and independence. As I’d just been thinking, the owners mostly left me alone, trusting me to handle things. The idea of starting over somewhere else was daunting, especially if some suspicion ended up getting attached to my name. Whether it had been self-defense or not, I had killed those guys. What if someone figured it out?

I made myself skim through the article. “The author is hypothesizing that someone trained animals or summoned ghost dogs to kill on their behalf?” I checked the top of the newspaper to make sure it was indeed the Seattle Times and not some unreputable rag. Their articles didn’t usually cover ghosts.

“Most of the story talks about the idea of trained animals— real animals,” Bolin said. “It was some of the residents here who suggested ghost animals. Some claimed to have seen dogs or wolves that moved eerily and were unnaturally powerful.”

“Nothing unnatural about the wolves,” came an indignant mutter from inside the apartment—Duncan listening near the door.

I didn’t point out that werewolves were all kinds of unnatural . We being werewolves ourselves didn’t change that .

“Anyway,” Bolin said, “I thought you should know about the paper and that my parents would be in touch.”

“Yes. Thank you for telling me.”

“I also may owe you an apology.”

“I doubt you have anything to apologize for. Especially on a Saturday. I wasn’t even expecting to see you today.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to see me either. But, uhm, on my way in…” Bolin looked toward the corner of the building. My apartment was in the back, so we couldn’t see the parking lot, but he waved in that direction. “Do you remember how you walked me through onboarding new tenants? And we leased an apartment to those two girls who are going to be roommates?”

I didn’t think they were exactly roommates , but I hadn’t commented on that at any point since Bolin thought the redhead was cute. “I do.”

“Well…” He crooked his finger and pointed toward the corner of the building. “I need to show you what’s been going on in the parking lot.”

“Besides birds defiling your Mercedes?”

He scowled at me. “Yes.”

He started to lead me away but noticed the robe and paused. “Uhm, should you get dressed first?”

“Let me grab some flip-flops.”

He looked scandalized that I might wander the property in a robe, but it was early on a weekend, so I hardly thought the property-manager dress code applied.

Duncan leaned out, his torso still bare, and looked at Bolin, whose expression grew even more scandalized.

While slipping my bare feet into my flip-flops, I noticed that most of the bacon and eggs had disappeared while I’d been speaking with Bolin. All that remained was a plate containing a modest portion. A very modest portion. Having Duncan over was definitely like sharing a home with a teenager .

I swatted him on the chest before stepping out of my apartment. “Find yourself some clothes by the time I get back, and I’ll go to the pond with you.”

“Really? You’re ready to take on an adventure-filled mission?”

I was ready to not be home if the Sylvans came by. Yes, it was cowardly, and I knew I would have to speak with them eventually, but they wouldn’t necessarily expect me to be here on the weekend. If I avoided the complex, I might have until Monday to figure out… whatever I could figure out to tell them. I couldn’t admit I was a werewolf with werewolf problems, but I didn’t want to lie. Being evasive with the police had been bad enough. The Sylvans were the people who’d paid my salary for years. For decades .

“Yeah,” was all I told Duncan. “And I need to buy some more eggs from the convenience store. A werewolf with a stomach the size of a football stadium devoured all mine.”

“You should pick up eggs and bacon,” he said without commenting on the rest.

“Do you want to make a list for me?”

He shook his head, but then raised a finger. “Maybe some dark chocolate too.”

“High-quality chocolate can’t be purchased at a convenience store.” I started after Bolin but halted before turning the corner and frowned back at Duncan. “Did you invade my chocolate stash?”

Duncan lifted his hands. “Certainly not, my lady. I know you cherish your sweets.”

“Only the sweets that I specifically tuck into the cabinet by the sink.” And in the leasing office, and in the maintenance shed by the lawn mower, and in the glove compartment of my truck during months where melting wasn’t a problem… “The dark-chocolate variety.”

“Yes, I see why you enjoy such fare. And I wouldn’t presume to sample yours without permission. ”

“But consuming all my eggs was okay.”

“I’ve not noticed you gently caressing eggs in your pocket the way you do your chocolate bars.”

“I don’t do that.” I hoped I didn’t.

Duncan smiled and spread his raised arms, turning the gesture into a deep bow.

Shaking my head, I hurried around the corner. Bolin had been kind enough to get up early, at least by his standards, and bring me that warning. If he had something else to warn me about, I shouldn’t impolitely dillydally.

When I caught up to him, he stood on the walkway between the leasing office and the parking lot. With his chin gripped in his hand, he watched two women in their twenties boxing up gear and zipping electronic equipment into bags.

“What’s going on?” I asked quietly.

One of the women looked over—the redhead Bolin had admired—and waved cheerfully. She didn’t look like a person in the middle of committing a crime or enacting nefarious plans.

“You’re a little late to witness it,” Bolin said, “but it was a stakeout.”

“Were they watching for criminals?”

“Ghosts.”

“Ghosts? Like ghost dogs?”

“I didn’t ask, but they showed me their ghostometer when I drove in. This is why I felt the need to apologize. Since all the newspaper publicity, well, you probably noticed the people who’ve applied lately have been a little… quirky, I guess you’d say. Normal people get scared away from places where violent deaths occur. Quirky people are attracted to such establishments. It’s possible I didn’t vet these ladies well enough.”

“Their credit scores were fine. I saw the application.” Had anything been wrong with them, their employment, or their references, I wouldn’t have approved it .

“Their credit isn’t the problem.” Bolin lowered his voice. “I think they’re the ones who talked to the Times reporter.”

“Look, Bolin. I’m glad you want to do a good job leasing this place, but you can only legally check for certain things on the applications.”

“You think it’s discrimination to deny housing to someone based on whether or not they have a ghostometer?”

“I’m positive. Washington isn’t a landlord-friendly state. The tenants have all kinds of rights.”

“Like… the freedom to perform nocturnal ghost hunts in the parking lot?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m surprised you’re not supportive of paranormal activities given that you’re…”

He stopped me with a finger to his lips.

“A free spirit yourself,” I finished.

“I’m worried that my parents will show up and think I’m not doing a good job. Luna, I have to prove myself capable of handling the accounting and paperwork for this place before they’ll let me travel around the world and oversee operations for their other properties. Specifically properties in desirable places that you’d actually want to visit.”

“On the behalf of the people of Shoreline, I’m slightly offended.”

“You know what I mean.” He’d been helpful on numerous occasions and was more mature than I would have guessed when he first rolled up in his G-Wagon, but his voice took on a distinctive whine when he added, “I want to work in Saint Lucia. Or Singapore. Or, oh, did I tell you they got a new property in Ireland? It’s where my dad’s side of the family came from. I’d love to work there for a few months. I could visit the Hill of Tara and New Grange in Boyne Valley.” He clutched his hand to his chest with longing .

I thumped him on the shoulder. “Things will work out, Bolin. You’re a good intern. I’ll let your parents know.”

He gave me a dubious look, and I wondered if he knew more than he’d let on about my future with the Sylvans. Could they already have an inkling that I was the reason for most of the trouble of late? I grimaced.

A startled gasp came from one of the girls, and she pointed toward the Roadtrek parked in the corner of the lot. No, she was pointing toward the half-naked man trotting barefoot toward it. I sighed. At least Duncan still had my blanket wrapped around his waist.

“It’s probably not the ghost hunting that’s going to alarm your parents if they show up,” I told Bolin.

He groaned and leaned against a tree.