"I thought it took longer than this," Goldstein said, as Charles became mostly human.
Leslie was scared, but holding it together. Goldstein looked like he was ready to fall asleep.
"For most of us, it does," she agreed. "Alpha wolves tend to be faster, and they can change more often. Charles is faster than most Alphas. We think it's for the same reason that he can wear clothes when he changes - he's got magic users on both sides of his parentage." They didn't need to know that he was the only werewolf born.
"For a secretive werewolf," observed Goldstein, "you are awfully happy to talk."
"The unknown is scary," Anna told him. "My orders were to come here, help you where we could - and try to make werewolves look good, to the FBI and to the public. How I carry it out is up to me. Hard to be friends with someone you think is scary."
"Your husband is scary - wolf or human," said Leslie.
Anna nodded her head. "He has to be. Regardless, Charles is one of the good guys."
Charles had changed completely back to human, and was wearing jeans, dark leather lace-up boots, and a plain gray tee. He stood up, eyes closed and muscles tight as he worked through the last debilitating cramps of the change. He flexed his fingers a couple of times, then looked straight at Anna.
"Call Isaac. Tell him we need a boat and his other witch." His voice was gravelly.
"Okay."
He looked at Leslie. "Call your medical examiner. See if we can get some hair from Jacob. Skin would work, but hair would be easier on the rest of us."
"I'll have to tell him why."
Charles raised a challenging brow. "I'll tell you why, and you can come up with a good lie. One of the little water spirits told me that the boy was taken from an island and dropped into the harbor. She made sure he came to rest here, which was useful to us, but I think she did it because she didn't want the black magic to linger in her water. That kind of magic can attract some nasty things. It occurred to me that if his body still had enough magical residue to get Caitlin the witch all excited, then his death site might still have enough for a real witch to locate it - if she has a bit of Jacob to orient with."
"Water spirits?" said Leslie, sounding dumbfounded.
"That's his shaman heritage, not a werewolf talent," Anna told her. "I can't see them, either."
"I know the ME from my stint in Boston a few years back," said Goldstein after a moment of silence. "I'll talk to him. Maybe do a bit of blackmail if it comes down to it. And we can get a boat."
Charles shook his head. "No witch I know would be caught dead on an official boat with the FBI. It'll have to be one of Isaac's people."
"I'll call Isaac - and then Beauclaire," said Anna. "If we have a chance at finding his daughter, he'll want to know."
"Witches and fairies don't get along," Charles warned her.
"If his daughter's fate rests in the hands of a witch, Beauclaire will bring her flowers and kiss her feet," Anna told him with absolute certainty. "Besides, if we run into this horned lord, it might not be a bad idea to have a big bad fairy on your side - and the way he's dropping information without worrying about it either means he's crazy - or he's a really big bad fairy."
Charles looked at her, then tipped his head. "I trust your judgment."
Anna looked at Leslie. "But let's leave Cantrip out of it, okay? We'll have werewolves, witches, and fae - we don't need a hostile and frightened man who is as likely to take out allies as enemies."
"Besides, Heuter is a jerk," Leslie said. "And I don't know about you, but I don't want to be stuck on a boat with him."
"Exactly."
CHARLES DIDN'T LIKE the ocean.
He liked boating even less and despised the way the life jacket restricted his movement. The Daciana, the thirty-foot boat they were going out on, might be designed for offshore ocean fishing, but the center-console fishing boats like this one had never felt like they were really big enough to handle ocean weather.
The boat was barely big enough to hold all of them: he and Anna, the two FBI agents, Malcolm (the owner of the boat), Isaac (who insisted on coming), Beauclaire, and Isaac's witch (who was late). If they found Lizzie, they might have to tie her to the bow or make her swim for it. The only thing that would have made it worse was if the boat were handled by someone other than a wolf - it wasn't only the witch who would have balked at a police or federal boat.
"Charles," said his mate, coming up behind him where he stood alone in the bow, which was somewhat isolated from the rest of the little boat. Malcolm and Isaac were muttering about courses and fiddling with the instruments packed in under the little central raised deck that provided the only protected area of the boat. Everyone else had chosen to wait on the docks until the witch arrived.
He'd heard Anna approach, felt the slight sway of the boat. It had been easier to be with her when he was in wolf form. Brother Wolf was not torn; he knew that they could protect her from anything - but his wolf was like that: confident. Charles was not so sanguine.
The taint of the ghosts he carried was beginning to wear on him. One day soon Anna would look into his eyes and see the evil within him. He wished he could have stayed in his wolf shape, but talking to Anna without opening the bond between them was too difficult. And he couldn't open the bond for fear that the ghosts might use it to get to Anna. There were stories about that, about ghosts that killed all of the people close to the man who carried them.
It was easier to be wolf than human because their evil could not touch Brother Wolf. The wolf felt no guilt, because guilt was a human emotion.
Anna touched his shoulder. Charles didn't turn to his mate, because he couldn't face her while he was thinking of the evil he carried inside of him. Instead he looked over the starboard side of the bow and out on the water where the sun was setting in streaks of azure, silver, and faint gold. "It'll be dark before we get out on the harbor."
Anna made a sound of agreement. "I know this is not the time, but, watching you brood over here, it occurs to me that you have evidently forgotten something and I think I'd better remind you. I should have reminded you this morning."
He did turn to her then. Like him, she was staring off into the distance, her shoulder brushing his like the wings of a butterfly.
"What's that?"
"You are mine." She didn't look at him but her hand closed possessively over his on the rail of the boat. Her voice was soft and without emphasis; not even werewolf ears would have heard her ten feet away. "Your ghosts cannot have you, Charles. So exorcize them before I have to." The last was a clear order, sharp as a shard of ice.