Mind Over Magic by Lindsay Buroker

2

The Wild Troutwas one of only two hotels in Bellrock, and it was the only one that took dogs, though the grumpy clerk had given Morgen a firm admonition to keep her pet crated and off the furniture.

As she dialed her phone, Lucky lounged in the middle of the double bed, his legs stretched out and his head on the pillows. Earlier, she’d put a quarter in the ancient Magic Fingers machine, thinking the vibrations might scare him onto the floor, but he’d only nestled in deeper.

“I can see you were traumatized by our adventure,” Morgen told him, wondering where she was going to squeeze in. Not that she had sleep on her mind. It was early, and she was too keyed up. What if she returned to Grandma’s property in the morning, and the wolf was still there?

The werewolf.

Unless someone had been playing an elaborate prank on her, that was all it—he—could have been. But werewolves didn’t truly exist, did they? They were like vampires and ghosts and witches and wizards. The stuff of Hollywood movies and fantasy novels.

“Hello?” her cousin Zoe answered. “Morgen?”

“Yeah. Thanks for picking up. I have… a problem.”

“You want to list your house? I’d be happy to help. I sell houses all over Seattle and know your neighborhood really well.”

“No, Jun got that in the divorce. He’s still living in it.”

“He got the house? What did you get?”

“Lucky, my car, and a lot of questions about my self-worth.” Also questions about whether she was as distant, aloof, and cold as Jun had told the lawyer.

All those years together, and she hadn’t realized he’d felt that way. He was an engineer, a logical and analytical human being not driven by his passions. She’d thought they were similar types of people and that they understood each other.

“Lucky?” Zoe asked. “That’s your dog, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s a nice pup and all, but he’s not worth more than a house with ten years of equity in it.”

“He’s good company,” Morgen said.

On the bed, Lucky rolled on his back with his paws crooked in the air.

“You know Grandma passed away, right?” Morgen added.

“I know you were the only one to get anything in her will. I don’t care, but I bet your brothers are pissed about that. Your sister probably is too. I haven’t talked to her in forever.”

“She’s not pissed. I called her and left a message when I told her about the funeral. She called back and left a message saying she couldn’t make it.” No need to mention that was what passed for a meaningful interaction with Sian. Jun might have thought Morgen was distant, but he’d called Sian an arctic glacier—based on the two times in ten years that they’d met. Morgen and Jun had been married for three years before the first time. Sian didn’t show up for weddings any more often than she came to funerals. “She didn’t sound irritated about the will.”

“Probably because she’s in Botswana chatting up gorillas and can’t be bothered with such earthly things as money and houses.”

“It’s Borneo, and her specialty is orangutans. Let me ask you a question. As a real-estate agent, have you ever driven up to a house with your clients and had something—someone—tell them no trespassing and scare them off?” Morgen shivered as she remembered the flashing white fangs less than a foot away from her windshield.

“Uh, sometimes squatters will take up residence on a property that’s been vacant for a while. Though I don’t know how any squatters would have found Grandma’s house. From what I remember, it’s in the middle of the woods with state land on all sides.”

“That’s right. I drove up about an hour ago, and a… man leaped out of the woods and tried to scare me away.” Morgen winced. “When I say tried, I mean he succeeded.”

“Was he armed?”

“He looked like one of those guys where his body is a weapon.” Morgen didn’t mention the werewolf possibility. It was far too kooky to share over the phone. Besides, she was a database programmer, a logical and rational person, not someone who spouted tales of fantastical creatures.

“Oh, yeah? Did you get a picture?” Why did Zoe sound more intrigued than worried for her?

“A blurry one of his chest.”

“Send it over. I’ll give you my professional opinion.”

“Your professional opinion as a real-estate agent? Are you going to appraise him?”

“Absolutely, I will.”

Morgen snorted and texted the photo. “I was thinking of calling the police to see if someone would go out there with me in the morning.”

At which point, she would feel foolish, because the man wouldn’t show up, and there would be no evidence to suggest he’d ever been there. Wasn’t that how these things went?

“If Bellrock has a police station, sure,” Zoe said. “Isn’t the population there like thirteen?”

“It’s not that small. And it’s not that far to Bellingham.”

“My professional appraisal of this chest is that it could indeed be used as a weapon,” Zoe said.

“Thanks so much.”

“Also that I’d pay fifty bucks to lick his abs.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“No, they’re quite nice.”

“You didn’t see his face,” Morgen said.

“Was it horribly maimed and disfigured?” There was that intrigue again.

Morgen should have called her sister. She didn’t know what help a primatologist in Borneo could be with this problem, but she was positive Sian wouldn’t have offered to lick a stranger’s body parts.

“No, just badly in need of attention from a barber. Or maybe a groomer. Does a squatter have any rights to be on a property if they’ve been there for a while?” It had only been four weeks since Grandma’s death, so Morgen couldn’t imagine that would have been enough time for anyone to have a legal right to stay on the property.

“Probably not unless he was a renter and has a lease.”

“I’m sure Grandma wouldn’t rent to a—” Morgen stopped herself before saying werewolf.

“—an Adonis with abs of steel?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“That’s what my clients tell me. Hey, are you going to sell her house? I can’t really see you moving to Bellrock.”

“If I can get to it and see what kind of state it’s in, probably.” Morgen had been relieved to have an excuse to leave Seattle and all the awkward condolences from her colleagues about the dissolution of her marriage.

“I can list it for you and get a good deal. I’m licensed to sell property anywhere in the state, and I’m sure you could use the money.”

Morgen winced at the reminder that she was not only freshly divorced but freshly unemployed, thanks to her company being bought out and the new owners deciding to dissolve the IT department. She didn’t yet know if this would qualify as the worst year of her life, but it was in the running. Just last winter, she’d turned forty and believed she and Jun were on a good path with stable futures; funny how a few months could change everything.

“I’ve got my 401(k) and enough in savings to be okay for a while, but I’ll let you know once I get up to see the house.”

“Send some more pictures, and I’ll give you my professional opinion.”

“Of the house or the, uh, squatter?”

“I’m happy to opine on both.”

“Thanks so much.” Morgen hung up and searched for a number for the authorities, her introvert tendencies making her cringe at the idea of calling strangers. Strangers who would ask her questions she didn’t know how to answer. “It looks like the county sheriff’s department covers Bellrock. At least their office is close. I’ll call in the morning.”

Lucky flopped back onto his side and swished his tail against the comforter.

“Are you going to make room for me in there?” Not yet ready to tackle pushing a seventy-pound dog over on the bed, Morgen walked to the window and peered out into the rain.

Across the street, the shops were closed for the night. The brick buildings with large glass windows and displays inside looked little different from when Morgen had visited Bellrock with her siblings when they’d all been kids.

Since their mother’s death, none of them had come up here. Grandma had always implied that she preferred to live alone and didn’t care much for company, but Morgen wondered if she should have tried harder to establish a rapport with her. Losing her daughter must have been hard on her, and she might have been lonely.

At the least, Morgen should have come up and checked on her. But Grandma hadn’t been frail and sickly; the last Morgen had heard, she’d been living on her own without trouble, riding her motorcycle around the state, and reading all the books she hadn’t had time for when she’d worked. Even though she’d been ninety, her death had been a surprise.

On the far side of the street, someone in a long dark jacket—or was that a cloak?—stepped out of the shadows between two buildings. A woman? It was hard to tell with the glass reflecting Morgen’s own brown eyes and shoulder-length auburn hair back at her. Further, the person wore a hood that hid her face. Not surprising, given the rain, but she turned to look straight at Morgen’s window. It was probably only in Morgen’s imagination that the woman had a menacing aura.

A braid of damp gray hair had escaped the hood, and something black adorned the ponytail holder at the end. Morgen was too far away to see it clearly, but it reminded her of a spider. It probably wasn’t one, but that would fit with the menacing aura.

Morgen, figuring she was framed in the window and noticeable with the lights on in her room, didn’t want to stare back. She gazed up and down the street, as if she was checking out the scenery of downtown Bellrock. When she looked back, the woman was still staring at her.

Morgen backed from the window and closed the curtains. “Bellrock isn’t as friendly as I remember.”

She hoped the werewolf would be gone in the morning.