Mind Over Magic by Lindsay Buroker

3

The second timeMorgen drove up the long muddy driveway, the sun was out and a deputy sheriff’s big SUV trailed her car past the water-filled potholes. As she sipped from a cappuccino from Bean Me Up, a drive-through coffee stand on the way out of town, she peered warily into the woods. She didn’t see any wolves or anything amiss until they reached the spot where she’d stopped the night before.

And she stopped again. A dead deer lay across the driveway.

Morgen swallowed and closed her eyes, not wanting to look at the mangled body. She loved animals, even wild animals that darted in front of her car. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t fought her doctor’s recommendation that she become a vegetarian.

Her stomach churned at the thought of having to deal with this. What did one even do with a dead deer in the driveway?

A knock at the window startled her.

Lucky barked from inside his crate behind her seat, startling her further. Morgen hadn’t wanted him to be tossed about on the bumpy driveway again, so she’d put him in it before they set out.

Fortunately, it was only Deputy Franklin, a big-eared man with a pot belly that slumped over the belt of his olive-green uniform. When she’d mustered enough extroversion to call the sheriff’s office and ask for help, she’d envisioned driving up to the property with someone like Wyatt Earp, not Droopy Dog.

Franklin raised his bushy eyebrows and stepped back so she could open the door.

“I saw you stop and got out to see what the problem was,” he said as she eased out, mud squishing under her shoes. “You ought to be able to drive around that.” He waved to the deer carcass.

Even though Morgen tried not to look at it, she couldn’t help but glance and see that it had been eviscerated and partially eaten. Was there a whole pack of wolves out here? That was a distressing thought.

And—she blinked and looked again—why was the head missing? Did animals usually chew off the heads of their prey? She’d never heard of such a thing.

“Can you check it?” she asked.

“Check it for what, ma’am? It’s dead.”

“I know, but it’s… right in the driveway.” Morgen waved at it, wondering if she would sound crazy if she said the wolf might have dragged it there as a message to her.

Stay off the property, or I’ll do this to you.

Franklin shrugged. “Someone probably hit it.”

“Causing the head to pop off?”

“That would have happened later.” He stuck his thumbs in his belt and puffed out his chest—and his gut—as if to convey his supreme authority on this matter. “Some scavengers came in to take advantage and had themselves a nice dinner.”

“I drove up last night, and I didn’t hit it. I’m sure nobody else has come up here since then.”

Nobody except the werewolf…

Franklin looked up and down the long driveway, trees and bends hiding most of it from view. Morgen expected to have to argue further, but he shrugged and walked up to examine the area.

Lucky swirled in his crate and barked twice.

Morgen shook her head. “You can run around when we get to the house. Assuming there aren’t corpses strewn all over the lawn.” She shuddered at the idea.

When Franklin returned, a puzzled furrow creased his brow. He removed his hat and pushed a hand through his short brown hair. “You’re right that it doesn’t look like it was hit by a car. Some coyotes or maybe a wolf got it.”

No kidding.

“Are wolves a big problem here?” Werewolves?

“Yeah, there are some wolves in these parts.” As Franklin put his hat back on, he peered warily into the trees, losing his earlier nonchalance.

She almost asked him if he’d heard anything about werewolves, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice something a normal, sane human being would scoff at and say was nonsense.

“This is still a pretty wild area,” he continued, “despite our proximity to civilization. Lots of state land around here. Preserves and hiking trails and the like.”

“Any hikers ever run into wolves?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes.”

“Any hikers ever get eaten by wolves?”

“Sometimes.”

Morgen blinked. “Are you serious?”

He smiled and thumped her on the shoulder. “Nah. Just joking around with you, ma’am.”

She wasn’t the best at reading people, but that smile didn’t seem authentic, and he glanced into the woods and at the deer again before saying, “We’ll drive around. Don’t worry. I’ll stick with you.”

Franklin patted the firearm at his waist before heading back to his SUV.

A part of Morgen wanted to flee back to the safety and normalcy of Seattle, but she already felt guilty about not seeing her grandmother in recent years. The thought of abandoning her property and having it be overrun by squatters and wolves was repugnant.

Morgen took a deep breath and got back in the car. She drove carefully around the deer, wondering again what she was supposed to do with it. If she let her cousin list the house for sale, there would be showings. She couldn’t imagine they would go well if the potential buyers had to maneuver past a headless deer carcass on the way up the driveway.

With branches scraping at the windows, Morgen made it around the obstacle. She couldn’t keep from peering into the woods as she continued on, afraid she would spot a whole pack of wolves watching her. Or a single pair of icy blue eyes.

But the trees opened up ahead, and she finally glimpsed the clearing where Grandma’s old house resided. A large red barn rose up to the side of it, the paint surprisingly fresh and the roof and sides in good condition. The nearby three-story, early 1900s Craftsman was in more need of work, with the green paint and yellow trim peeling and moss growing on the roof. Even so, it was much as Morgen remembered, and she exhaled slowly in relief. Despite triple-checking the sole address sign at the turn-off, she’d started to doubt she was indeed trying to reach the right property.

The fenced garden out front was also in better condition than expected, though weeds had grown up in the weeks since Grandma’s passing, mingling with the strawberry plants sprawling across several beds and the green beans and tomato vines growing on trellises. The large lawn surrounding the house and barn had been mowed recently.

Maybe a caretaker had come up regularly to tend the yard for Grandma? If so, Morgen would have to find out who it was and let them know she’d passed on. Maybe she could employ the same service until she was ready to sell the house.

Reminded of her cousin’s request, Morgen got out of the car, intending to take some pictures. The deputy had also stepped out and was looking around with his hand on his firearm. Had he seen something? The naked man? A hulking wolf far too large to be of natural origins?

Morgen felt safer out in the open with the sun shining on the damp grass, but firs, alders, pines, and spruce rose up all around the hilltop property. In the distance, the water of Rosario Strait was visible through the trees. When she’d been a girl, there had been a better view. A real-estate agent would probably want to cut some of the trees down to put water view in the description, but Morgen didn’t think they belonged to Grandma. The agent would have to list this as a peek-a-boo view.

“I didn’t realize how isolated this place is,” Franklin said.

“You’d heard of it before? Did you know my grandmother?”

“It’s a small town. Everybody knows everybody, but Gwen was a recluse, so I can’t say that I knew her. Just heard a few rumors now and then. She rode through town on that Harley of hers even though she had to be creeping up on seventy.”

“Ninety, actually.”

“Huh, she didn’t look all that old. A shame it was the motorcycle that did her in.”

“Yeah.”

Whines from the car reminded Morgen that she’d promised to let Lucky out. She released him, and he sprang free, beelining straight for the barn. He immediately started sniffing and pawing at the ground next to the wall.

“Might want to keep an eye on him,” Franklin said.

“Because of the wolves?”

“That’s right. Usually, they’d leave a pup that size alone.” He waved to Lucky’s seventy-pound frame; the dog was large for his breed. “But people have spotted some big wolves around here.”

“Imagine that.” For the first time, Morgen thought to check the hood of her car for claw marks. The night before, it had been dark by the time she reached the hotel.

She grimaced at the scratches all over the hood and pointed them out to Franklin.

“That’s from your dog?” he asked.

“No. A wolf jumped on my car last night.”

He squinted at her. “You only mentioned a man who blocked your way.”

“The man was the one who threatened to rip my throat out if I didn’t leave.” Technically, he may have made the same threat in the wolf language when he’d been growling at her. “That left a larger impression.”

Not exactly true. The whole scenario, including the wolf transforming into a naked man right before her eyes, was indelibly imprinted on her mind.

“Are you planning to stay up here?” The car door was still open, and Franklin waved to the luggage visible in the back.

“That was my original plan. I need to figure out what to do with Grandma’s belongings and get the house ready to sell.”

She dreaded the necessity of sorting through her grandmother’s things and deciding what to do with them. Her mother should have been here to spearhead this. Morgen, remembering so little of Grandma, didn’t feel qualified. Most of what she remembered was that Grandma had been a librarian and loved books. They’d had that in common. And Morgen knew what it was like to prefer solitude to crowds of people—even family.

Right now, she wouldn’t have minded less solitude. Even though she wasn’t close to her brothers, she wished some of them had volunteered to come up and help, but they’d all made excuses about how busy they were. She’d sensed their bitterness about not having been left anything and suspected that was the real reason they hadn’t come. Grandma had bequeathed all of her liquid wealth to charity, and the house was the only thing Morgen had received, though she wondered why she’d been singled out for that. As far as she knew, she hadn’t been any closer than her siblings to Grandma.

“Maybe you should stay in the hotel,” Franklin said, returning to the parked cars.

“Oh?”

“I didn’t want to scare you, but…” He looked back toward the driveway.

Morgen didn’t see anyone, but she had the feeling someone was watching them.

“Is this about the headless deer?” she asked.

“There were prints in the mud around it. Very large wolf prints.” Franklin cupped two hands in the air to demonstrate the size.

Morgen nodded. After all, she’d seen the wolf that made them.

“Also, it looked like it was dragged into the road after it was killed.”

“Like… to make a point?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily attribute that much intelligence to an animal, but…” Franklin paused, then shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t want to worry you. It might not mean anything.”

Uh huh.

“I’ll look around the property a little more,” he offered. “See if I see anything peculiar or dangerous.”

“Thank you.”

As Franklin headed off to do an investigation of the property, Morgen grabbed the keys out of the cupholder in her car. Her fingers trembled a little, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

After making sure Lucky hadn’t gone far—he was still sniffing around the barn—she headed for the covered front porch. The wood had recently been sanded and sealed. Courtesy of the caretaker who’d mowed the lawn? Most of the house appeared old and in need of repairs, but parts here and there looked good, with the barn almost gleaming, though it had to be a hundred years old, if not older.

She halted at the top of the porch steps. A large firewood box rested on the doormat and blocked the door. Odd.

Morgen bent, intending to push it to the side, but a twinge of foreboding came over her, and something made her reach for the wooden lid. She lifted it and screamed for the second time in a day. The decapitated deer head was inside, dead eyes staring up at her.