In the Woods Ch4

Koz, Jack, and Nightlight sat parked in a dusty junkyard at the very edge of Burgess. A few yards away Katherine examined a banged up RV while Ombric spoke to the seller. Jack taught Nightlight sign language in the backseat, while Koz had the driver’s seat tipped back. Koz’s eyes were closed, but Jack wasn’t sure if he was asleep.

They were all startled when Koz’s phone rang. Koz sat up, seemingly wide awake. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. “Agent Farida speaking,” he said.

Jack paused what he’d been signing and straightened in his seat.

Koz was quiet a moment, listening to the person on the other end. He nodded. “I understand. My partner and I are in Burgess at the moment. We can be there in two hours.” He ended the call and let out a sigh.

“Got a new case?” Jack asked.

“That remains to be seen,” Koz said moodily, “but we certainly have a new victim.”

They had something of a mad rush to wrap up with the RV seller, get the exiles home, and re-dye Jack’s hair. Amazingly, exactly two hours later Jack was back in his suit, standing at the reception desk at the Claussen Police Department.

Koz stood at the desk, looking suave in his suit and glasses. Jack tried to mimic his rigid, but simultaneously relaxed posture, but it was harder than it looked and he was already bored. They were waiting for the forensic pathologist to come back from her lunch break (they never had problems like this on CSI). While Koz politely dodged the receptionist’s questions about Bunny, Jack glanced at his surroundings.

The police department looked remarkably office-like. The large room was painted a pale grey-ish brown. A water cooler hugged one wall, a small, but incessant drip creating a puddle on the floor. Clusters of desks filled the room, broken only by small waste-bins and the occasional office plant. Something went ‘bang!’ and Jack looked across the room to see an officer of the law fighting with a copy machine. They never had problems like that on CSI either.

As his eyes roved across men and women sipping coffee, typing up paperwork, and refilling staplers, he caught a pair of officers in his peripheral vision. He didn’t have to look directly at them to know they were staring at Koz and him. He looked away, turning his attention to the reception desk, but his curiosity was peaked. He extended his hearing to snoop on the nearby officers.

“That’s the X-files guy,” an officer whispered across his desk. “Every now and then we get some really weird case and he comes in and takes it out from under us.”

“Jeez . . .” his companion said in awe. “Like . . . he handles alien cases and stuff?”

“Aliens, robots, weaponized diseases—whatever. I’ve seen some of the freaky cases he gets called in on. It’s weird!”

“That guy with him looks even younger than me!”

Jack tried not to react. He forced his eyes to bore into a business card holder, like the District Attorney’s phone number was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“It used to be some other guy . . . maybe he got killed by an alien.”

That was even harder not to react to.

“Maybe that kid is some science experiment created to be a secret agent, and that’s why he’s so young?” suggested the younger officer.

“I could see it.”

That was it. Jack couldn’t take any more without smiling. But he prided himself on being a little shit, so he smiled the best way he could: Slowly, he turned his head to look straight at the two gossiping officers. Then he finally let an amused smile spread across his face. He nearly laughed when both officers froze, eyes widening in panic, before they hurriedly looked down at their desks, suddenly incredibly interested in their paperwork.

“Agent Annie,” Koz said.

Jack started guiltily, but Koz was only getting his attention to tell him the pathologist was back.

It was only as they descended the steps to the station’s basement and the air began to grow cold that Jack realized he was about to see a dead body. He glanced nervously at Koz and caught him subtly rubbing his nose, his brow furrowing like he’d smelled something unpleasant.

A moment later, Jack got a whiff of formaldehyde and understood. He could hardly believe how the pathologist could stand to eat and come back to this—it was awful. They entered a set of double doors and were faced with a large room. It was colder than ever here. Two desks sat pressed against one side, while the back wall was covered in small, metal doors. Jack swallowed hard.

The pathologist grabbed a file from her desk.

“So the deceased’s name was Eddy, no known last name, local homeless man. He was found by hikers near the bridge at Lyon Park. No signs of a struggle, no exterior wounds.” She handed Koz the file. “You’re lucky we picked this one up instead of the hospital. You’d be going through the CDC right now—but the coroner said to call you instead.”

Koz nodded and flicked through the file while the pathologist opened one of the metal drawers and pulled out the gurney inside. Jacks’ stomach turned at the sight of the shrouded body.

She pulled the cloth back to reveal the upper half of a middle-aged man. His skin was nearly grey—not just pale and dead-looking, but grey. His eyes were wide and unblinking, pupils blown and irises filmy. His mouth was wide-open set in a permanent gasp of horror.

Jack felt dizzy. He looked at the ground quickly. ‘Don’t faint, don’t faint,’ he chanted to himself, feeling a clammy chill seep over him while his face burst into a panicky flush. He took a deep breath and the scent of formaldehyde struck him like a slap to the face. ‘Don’t throw up,’ he thought, ‘don’t faint and don’t throw up!’

“Do you need some vapor rub?’ The pathologist asked.

Jack looked up at her in confusion.

“Yes,” Koz said. “I’d like some too.”

“You?” She quirked an eyebrow at him as she walked toward her desk.

“I had my deviated septum fixed,” Koz lied smoothly.

While the pathologist rummaged in her desk drawers, Koz reached out and gave Jack’s hand a quick squeeze. The doctor returned, handing Koz a jar of Vick’s vapor rub. Jack watched Koz rub a dab over his nostrils and followed suit. He could still smell the formaldehyde over the rub’s pungent scent, but it was significantly less potent.

That only solved one of his current discomforts.

Koz pulled on a pair of elastic gloves. The pathologist offered some to Jack as well and he pulled them on, but he had zero intent to touch the dead man.

Koz had no such qualm. He leaned in close, looking right into the dead man’s eyes. The doctor offered him a small flashlight and he took it, shining the light into the blown pupil.

“Based on the pallor and facial expression, I initially suspected asphyxiation but there are no sign of peticial hemorrhaging or ligature marks to the neck or chest,” the pathologist said. Jack was suddenly very glad he’d watched so many crime shows, he more or less knew what she was saying.

“I opened him up and that’s when I found the really weird part.” The pathologist pulled back the shroud farther, exposing an ugly ‘y’ shaped cut extending all the way down the man’s stomach to just above his crotch. The pathologist pulled open the cut as easily as if she were unwrapping a gift. It was too much. Jack had to look away.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, trash can’s by my desk, if you need it, Agent,” the pathologist said, sounding far too amused.

Jack took a deep breath. “I’ll be alright.”

“I’ll hurry along,” the pathologist said, just the barest hint of sympathy entering her flat tone.

Several upsetting and unpleasant noises followed and Jack shuddered, keeping his gaze firmly on the ground.

“You see . . .” the pathologist trailed off.

“Yes . . .” Koz said. Jack dared to look up. The corpse was open, its insides exposed. And they were black. Jack stared, disgusted, but unable to look away.

“Was his internal temperature quite low upon arrival?” Koz asked.

“Yes,” the pathologist replied. “That’s another strange thing. Rigor hadn’t set in but his temperature was as low as if he’d been dead for hours.”

Koz nodded. “I’ve seen this before,” he said, a smile coming to his face. “It’s a very, very rare breed of spider that occasionally gets brought in with produce from South America. One must’ve found it’s way to Lyon Park.”

The pathologist blinked in surprise, an amused smile crossing her lips. “A spider?” She asked.

“Yes,” Koz said quite cheerfully, considering he was standing over a corpse. “Its venom causes the body to lose control of its internal temperature. The blood flow slows until the victim’s body can no longer circulate oxygen.” He held up the case file’s folder as she looked at him skeptically. “Thank you for your work, but I don’t think we’ll need to extend this investigation. I know of an arachnologist who would love to collect a specimen. I’ll send him to the Lyon Park bridge to try and find it.”

Koz stripped the elastic gloves off his hands as the pathologist shook her head incredulously.

Jack remembered Koz’s reputation as ‘The X-Files Guy’. The poor pathologist probably thought she was getting caught in some alien cover-up.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll put COD as toxic reaction to a spider bite.” She started to close the man up and Koz put the file back on her desk.

“Thank you for notifying me,” Koz said, gesturing for Jack to follow him out. Jack hurriedly pulled off his elastic gloves and tossed them in the trash after Koz’s. “Please call me if you see any more cases like this one,” Koz said.

The pathologist nodded as she replaced the shroud over the dead man. “Have a good day, agents.”

As Jack and Koz ascended the stairs back to the main level, the echo of the rumbling gurney being shoved back into the drawer followed after them. The metal door was closed with a creak and a bang, and then all was quiet, but for the sounds of their footsteps.

*

“So that was nasty,” Jack said as soon as they got in the car.

Koz smiled and it was surprisingly tender. “I’m so proud of you for not throwing up,” he said.

Jack baulked. “I still might.”

Koz turned the keys in the ignition. “Well, let me know if you need me to pull over.” He backed out of his space and pulled out of the parking lot.

Jack let out a long breath and wiped the vapor rub from his nose. “So we’re going to see this spider guy friend of yours?”

Koz snorted. “Oh no, that was bullshit.”

Jack was surprised, both by Koz’s answer, and his swearing; he couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re saying there’s no South American spider that turns people’s insides black and cold?”

“No,” Koz said, the humor draining from his face. “That’s the communal lie hunters use when we encounter a Black Dog.”

Jack straightened in his seat, not liking Koz’s tone. “Bad news?” He asked.

“Yes,” Koz said. “Black Dogs are a type of shadow specter. There used to be a lot of wolves and stray dogs in Europe, and so these particular specters changed themselves to look less conspicuous at a distance. Up close, they look more like an upright shadow.”

“And they turn people’s insides black?”

“They drain the heat from their victims. The blood literally runs cold and the veins become frost bitten. Supposedly they look different when they’re about to eat you—which is why the victim had that look on his face.”

Jack’s gaze turned to the window. He watched the houses pass by as Koz drove through unfamiliar streets, feeling unsettled. A memory tugged at him. “You’ve mentioned Black Dogs before, haven’t you?”

“Probably,” Koz said as he pulled up to a stop sign. “I was hunting one when I got bitten by a werewolf.”

“Oh,” Jack nodded, vaguely remembering Koz telling the story as they traipsed through the woods. It seemed so long ago, but it had only been a few months. “So there’s no chance the Black Dog killed that girl from yesterday, right?”

“No,” Koz said thoughtfully. “A Black Dog isn’t capable of such an act.”

Jack nodded and bit his lip as Koz eased his vehicle across the street. “So . . . there’s two monsters on the loose in Claussen right now?”

Koz shrugged. “That’s not too unusual. A lot of monsters are nomadic to some extent, but many settle down in this area because of the forest. It’s a great place to hide and when they get hungry they can pop out and eat somebody.”

“What about the Thing in the Trees?” Jack asked.

Koz tapped his fingers on the steering wheel thoughtfully. “It hasn’t hunted outside the forest yet . . . it might not have adapted to hunting in towns and cities . . . that shortens my list a little!”

He sobered. “The Black Dog is suspicious though,” he said. “Black Dogs are summoned into existence. This one could have gotten loose from its summoner, but I find it a little too convenient that the summoning ritual requires the heart of a virgin and that young woman had her heart so neatly cut out.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

“One thing at a time,” Jack said, feeling slightly overwhelmed. “What do we do about a Black Dog?”

“We’ll need to get some supplies,” Koz said. “Black Dogs are dangerous—but they can’t hunt often. Right now it’s probably hiding in the forest, resting up for its next meal.”

“Can you track it by scent?”

Koz shook his head. “I couldn’t get much from the victim’s body. It might not have a scent, since it’s a specter. We’ll have to go to the location after we’re armed and track its footprints.”

Jack threw up his hands in dismay. “It doesn’t have a scent but it leaves footprints?”

Koz let out a bark of a laugh. “You and I transform into wolves based on how much sunlight is reflected off the moon. It’s magic! It doesn’t have to make sense.”

*

Acquiring the right Black Dog hunting equipment turned out to be easier said than done. Apparently, the easiest way to kill a Black Dog was to spray it with holy water. They’d gotten several gallons and a few bottles from Mr. Qwerty, but now they were seeking a way to weaponize the holy water so they wouldn’t have to get too close to the Black Dog and risk dying. Naturally, this meant they’d gone to two dollar-stores and one thrift shop in search of a set of water guns.

Jack sat on the thrift store’s lumpy couches. He’d ditched the jacket and tie of his suit and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, but still he felt uncomfortable. But it was more than that, he was starting to feel a little nauseous and tired--and not the regular sort of tired, the bone-deep tiredness that came with sickness. He plucked at the strings of a ukulele he’d found among all the junk, until finally Koz returned, looking ruffled.

“I can’t believe nobody has any water pistols,” he shook his head in disgust. “I know they’re out of season, but still! We might have to try Wal-Mart,” he said. “But not today—I want to check out the crime scene before it gets too dark out.”

“Okay,” Jack said, frowning. He’d almost managed to learn to play ‘Hot-Crossed-Buns’. He put the ukulele back where he’d found it and followed Koz from the store.

*

The man had died at a park just at the edge of campus, not a mile from Miss Rider’s house. A road stretched past the small plot, curving over a river and past a line of trees—the edge of the forest.

Yellow police lines criss-crossed the steep path leading down beneath the bridge. They both stooped to go beneath these and carried on.

“Eddy was found here,” Koz said as he lead Jack across the grass and down to the riverside. The bridge was cracked and covered in graffiti—most of it just hastily painted curse words. It certainly looked like the sort of place you would find a dead body.

They stepped into the shadow of the bridge. “Keep an eye out for trolls,” Koz said, his voice echoing off the low ceiling.

Jack opened his mouth to ask if Koz was being serious before he decided that he probably was. He glanced around with newfound wariness. He eyed a moss-covered boulder at the edge of the river suspiciously. Were real trolls like the trolls in Frozen?

Koz knelt down. “Here we go,” he said.

Jack crouched to see what he was indicating. Koz gingerly held up half a leaf. It was a normal, brown leaf—but part of it had been torn away. The edge around this missing piece was black and crinkled.

“What does that mean?” Jack asked.

“This burning was likely caused by the Black Dog,” Koz said. “When it was hungry it walked here, sucking the life out of everything it touched.” He twirled the leaf-half between his fingers. “This leaf was probably still green before the Black Dog touched it.”

“So don’t let it touch you?”

“That would be inadvisable, yes.”

Jack stood up straight and looked out beyond the bridge. It was getting cool enough that the grass wasn’t perfectly green, but there was a faintly distinguishable trail of brown grass that was curled and twisted, some of it black and broken at the tips.

“So is that the way it came?” He asked.

Koz stood slowly. “Yes,” he said. “The trail before the kill is always more vivid—the trail after is trickier. When the Black Dog has eaten its fill it doesn’t leave marks like that.”

“Could it have crossed the river?” Jack asked.

Koz shook his head. “Specters can’t cross running water.”

Jack let out a huff. “Of course!” He should start writing these things down.

Koz started walking, following the riverbank in the opposite direction the Black Dog had come from. If he was following a trail, Jack couldn’t see it. Koz pulled two of the small bottles of holy water from his pockets and offered one out to Jack. “I doubt we’ll run into it, but just in case.”

Jack took it from him, opening the flip-top lid and holding the small bottle in both hands. He hoped Koz was right. He felt woefully unprepared for any sort of attack.

Koz followed the trail and Jack kept on his heels, glancing around nervously at every shifting shadow. It was getting on into late afternoon and while the trees here weren’t as tightly packed as they were around the cabin, they still cast long shadows that shifted as often as the wind blew.

Koz stopped and Jack nearly walked into him. Koz didn’t notice. He pointed at something in the mud at the river’s edge. “After a Black Dog has fed, its form is more physical. It doesn’t leave a burn trail, but see here? This is from a Black Dog.”

Jack looked down to see an enormous paw print. He remembered suddenly that Koz had been bitten while on a hunt for one of these things and that three experienced hunters had mistaken a werewolf’s prints for a Black Dog’s. Koz in his wolf form was so big--the Black Dog had to be at least chest-height—maybe larger.

Jack swallowed. Koz was walking again and Jack hurried to catch up, suddenly quite alarmed. “So on a scale of one to ten in terms of dangerousness—where would Black Dogs land?” He asked.

“We actually do have a scale,” Koz said. “It has five levels though—with five being the highest. Black Dogs are a three.”

Jack’s shoulders slumped. A median-level monster didn’t really tell him much. “Why?”

“Black Dogs can kill you instantly,” Koz said. “But that’s the only reason they rank higher. They need to be summoned into existence and they’re passive when they’re fed. They’re not even aggressive when they’re attacked—but they can hurt you unintentionally. They spend most of their time in a dormant state—so I wouldn’t worry that one’s going to pop out at us.”

Jack relaxed a fraction. “Okay.”

He fell silent as Koz followed the trail, occasionally pointing out broken branches or crushed tree leaves as evidence of the creature’s movements. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. “Koz,” he said. “What do werewolves rank on the scale?”

A slow smile spread across Koz’s face. “Well, they’re deadly at worst, contagious at best. They are aggressive, good hunters, fast and powerful, and they work in teams . . . So naturally they’re a five.”

Jack grinned. “Is it weird that that makes me feel kind of proud?”

Koz smiled ruefully. “A little,” he said. “Easy as it is to feel shame for what we are, I suppose we should allow ourselves a small amount of pride.”

Jack snorted. Sometimes Koz could be so . . . “So who would win in a fight—werewolves or Black Dogs?”

Koz laughed. “The scale judges how dangerous a creature is to a human. A werewolf couldn’t douse a Black Dog in holy water—so the Black Dog would win.”

Well, that was morbid, but now Jack had a new question. “So, in your professional opinion, who would win in a fight: Dracula or the Wolfman?”

The river had grown thinner now, dispersing into several small creeks. It hadn’t rained in a long while, so the creek water was low. They stepped over wobbly river-stones and dried grass, following the waterline until it was hardly more than a trickle.

Here the water disappeared into the earth and the creek ran dry.

“This is where the Black Dog crossed,” Koz said, leading the way over the dry riverbed. Jack followed. Immediately, a prickle went up his spine, his stomach turned, and goosebumps rose all over his arms. He stepped back, looking around wildly. He whirled to look at Koz and found him similarly rattled. “What’s happening?” He asked.

Koz’s shoulders were hunched, his eyes flitting around the darkening woods. “I’m not sure,” he said, “But I think . . . I think it’s the Black Dog. The only other time I’ve felt like this was when the White Wolf was around . . . “

Jack edge closer to him, clutching his bottle of holy water close to his chest. “I thought you said the Black Dog was dormant?” He asked.

“It probably is,” Koz said.

Jack swallowed. If their wolf senses were this haywire when the Black Dog was dormant, he couldn’t imagine how bad it’d be when it was awake.

“How do we find it?” Jack asked, shifting from foot to foot.

“Look for a shadow that’s darker than it should be,” Koz said. “It’ll be in an enclosed space and if you put your hand in it, it will feel unusually cold.”

Well, there was no way Jack was putting his hand in anything supernatural. Jack took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He stepped away from Koz’s side. It was unnerving searching for the Black Dog—like watching a horror movie where you know something is going to jump out but you keep waiting and waiting. Jack had watched enough movies to know that just when you let your guard down was usually when you got killed, so he purposefully forced himself to stay in a state of paranoia. As such, he was relieved when he looked in the hollow bough of a tree and found the inside was an unnatural pitch black.

“Koz!”

Koz hustled over from where he’d been searching. He took one look at the shadow and nodded. “That’s it.”

Jack edged back. “What should we do?” He asked. “Can we pour holy water down there and kill it now?”

Koz shook his head. “When it’s hibernating like this, it’s even less substantial than usual. We can’t touch it.” He fished a pocketknife from his jacket and cut into the tree trunk, carefully scratching a letter ‘J’.

“What’s ‘J’ for?” Jack asked.

“Jack!” Koz smiled. He pocketed the knife. “We used to put ‘X’ but kids would get curious thinking someone hid treasure.”

“Oh.” Smart actually.

Koz started back the way they’d come and Jack followed hesitantly. “You’re going to have to ride in the trunk,” Koz said. “I didn’t mean to stay out this late; you’ll probably transform before we get back.”

“Is it really safe to leave?” Jack asked.

“The Black Dog won’t be awake for a long while yet,” Koz said. “I’d give it a month, then we’ll have to start keeping tabs on it. This is good. We can focus on the Rider case. And when we do have to deal with the Black Dog, we’ll actually be better off in some way—when I hunted Black Dogs as a human, I didn’t have the er . . . animal instinct warning sense.”

“Let’s just call it what it is,” Jack chuckled. “It’s our spidey sense.”

***

While Jack and Koz had been off searching for the Black Dog, Nightlight and Katherine measured the newly acquired RV and tested to see how sharply it could turn. With this information they seemed confident they could find a path for the RV to leave the camping trail and move closer to the cabin.

Koz sat back, Jack’s fluffy, lupine head resting on his lap, and listened as the two explained how they’d spent the afternoon measuring the distance between the trees using a spool of twine, a measuring tape, and a typographical map of the forest. They’d made little headway, but Katherine had created a to-scale map of the trees surrounding the cabin and had already determined the best pathways to continue on for the next day’s venture.

“Do you really think it will be able to turn between these trees though?” Koz asked, eyeing the map skeptically.

It was then that Katherine, with a soft tap of her pencil, opened her mouth and revealed that she was in fact, incredibly smart. Koz hardly understood a word of the mathematical babble that came out of her mouth. Nightlight cackled at his expression. Koz made a mental note to never question the young woman after that.

The next day the weather seemed to suddenly realize that, while it had been getting steadily colder, it hadn’t rained enough for fall. The sky switched continuously between light showers and tremendous thunderstorms.

Nightlight and Katherine made rain ponchos out of trash bags and duct-tape and bravely set out to continue their map. Ombric remained in the cabin, lost in his work. He’d more or less finished the newest prototype of the cure, and his time was split between purifying this sample and making enough to distribute to all the other wolves he used as test subjects.

While the exiles kept themselves occupied, Jack and Koz went on the hunt.

Jack tried not to fidget as Koz drove him to Miss Rider’s family home to talk to her parents. He didn’t feel well, but he’d already pegged that one on the upcoming full moon. He stared out the window, watching run-down houses and overgrown lots pass by. The view was made even drearier by the tremendous amount of rain coming down.

“Just remember,” Koz said, “to be tactful. When in doubt, let me do the questioning, but don’t be afraid to speak up if you need something clarified or elaborated. They aren’t the police, so they’re less likely to notice if you make any rookie mistakes. But tact is the most important thing. Remember: these people are grieving, if we push too much they’ll shut down or become too hostile to continue questioning.”

“Okay.” Jack nodded, silently resolving to not say anything.

Miss Rider’s parents lived in a small town just an hour from Claussen. Koz pulled into a gravel driveway next to a single-story house. Apparently, they were expected. Mr. Rider opened the front door and three outrageously fat Pomeranians poured out into the front yard. Despite the fact that all three of them had black ribbons tied in their hair, they skipped and barked through the grass, totally oblivious to the fact that they were supposed to be in mourning.

Koz and Jack got out of the car, instinctively ducking their heads against the rain. Jack expected to be mobbed by overweight puppies but instead the three dogs retreated to the shelter of their owner’s ankles, where they growled uncertainly.

“Morning officers,” Mr. Rider said, his smile pinched.

“Agents, honey. They’re FBI agents,” Mrs. Rider came up to the door, scooping up the three dogs in her meaty arms as easily as picking up laundry. “The detectives we spoke to the other day said you would be coming.”

“I’m Agent Farida,” Koz pulled out his badge as he spoke and Jack hurried to do the same with his newly acquired fake ID. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”

Mr. Rider nodded and the two led the way into their home.

The house smelled strongly of dogs and incense. It was intense even for Jack and a look out of the corner of his eye caught the subtle clench of Koz’s jaw—the only sign he gave that he was currently being stabbed through the nose by the pungent stench.

The Rider’s living room was stuffed full of couches, though there was no television in sight. Jack and Koz sat on a floral print loveseat facing a wall absolutely covered in crosses. They were lucky they were werewolves and not vampires, Jack thought. That many crucifixes had to be some serious monster repellant.

Mr. Rider sat on a chair opposite the two of them, while Mrs. Rider took a loveseat next to him. She was a wide woman—wide enough that the three overweight Pomeranians fit comfortably on her lap. They all watched Jack and Koz carefully, growling whenever one of them moved.

“I’m sorry about the girls,” Mrs. Rider said. “They’re usually more friendly.”

“That’s perfectly all right,” Koz said, taking a pad of paper and a pen from his breast pocket. “I see you collect crosses,” Koz started in. “Which parish do you belong to?”

Jack was surprised by the opening question, but he supposed it would be awkward to bring out the heavy stuff first.

Mrs. Rider starting talking about My Lady of Whatever Church and how great it was. The dogs continued to growl at every move they made while Mr. Rider stared off in space, his face pensive. Jack had little more to do than focus on how cold and nauseous he felt. He hoped they could leave soon.

Jack looked at Koz and realized he was actually taking notes on what the lady was blathering on about: ‘My Lady of Mercy’, ‘Reverend John Hammond,’ ‘Eleanor Hammond—friend’. Koz was taking her words quite seriously.

As discreetly as he could, Jack pulled out his own pen and notepad.

Koz carried on, asking about Miss Rider’s mission trip group, friends, and so on. Jack tried to pay attention, but it was awfully dull.

“Did Samantha have a boyfriend?” Koz asked.

“No,” Mrs. Rider said quickly. “She was in the Chastity Club.”

Jack felt the Riders weren’t the sort of people to remind that having a boyfriend and staying abstinent weren’t mutually exclusive. He looked to Mr. Rider as Koz asked Mrs. Rider about the Chastity Club. Mr. Rider’s face was more drawn than before.

“Did Samantha ever tell you about any enemies?” Koz asked.

Mrs. Rider’s face paled as her eyes grew watery. “No.”

“No one she was arguing with? No long-standing disagreements?”

“No,” Mrs. Rider said in a teary voice.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Rider, I only have one last question: was anyone bothering Samantha? It could’ve been as serious as someone following her, or as innocent as someone in class annoying her.”

Mrs. Rider shook her head. Mr. Rider’s face crumpled as though he were suddenly pained. Jack glanced at Koz and found him watching Mrs. Rider. He swallowed. Koz had told him to speak up hadn’t he?

“Mr. Rider,” he said, trying to ignore how this startled Koz and Mrs. Rider. “Did Samantha ever tell you that someone was bothering her?”

Mr. Rider’s face pinched even further if that were possible. He took a long moment to respond, as though debating whether or not to answer. Unfortunately, the longer he hesitated, the more upset Mrs. Rider appeared until finally he must have decided there was no way he could deny knowing anything after such a pregnant pause. “I’m sorry, Mary,” he said quietly.

Mrs. Rider’s lips were white, they were pressed so tightly together. She looked like she was going to throttle him or burst into tears. Jack glanced between the two of them, anxiously.

Mr. Rider spoke in a rush: “Sam got kicked out of the Chastity Club.”

“What?” Mrs. Rider burst. The Pomeranians seemed to sense a change in the Force and all jumped off her lap in time for her to shift in her seat and glare at her husband. “How? She didn’t—“

“She started dating someone—“

Mrs. Rider’s hand grasped at her chest and her expression would have been almost comically scandalized if there weren’t real tears in her eyes. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

Mr. Rider crossed his arms over his chest. “She knew how upset you’d be.”

“Of course I’m upset! It’s a Chastity Club—not a dating service!”

The dogs retreated from the room. Jack and Koz might as well have not existed.

“She wanted to find someone with similar values to hers!”

Jack glanced to Koz uncertainly. Koz spoke calmly, but loudly enough to cut between the argument: “What do you know about this boyfriend?”

Mr. Rider ignored his wife, turning his gaze from Koz to Jack and back again. “It was someone from the club. With similar values toward chastity. But the club leader, Eleanor Hammond—she’s been friends with Sam since they were little and they’d carpool with this guy—she had a problem with him, so they both got kicked out.”

“What problem?” Koz asked.

“Sam didn’t say, but she was very upset about it. I guess they had a big fight.” Mr. Rider shook his head. “But Eleanor never would’ve done something like this. Maybe you can ask her about Sam’s boyfriend though.”

Koz nodded. “I will, thank you.” He stood and Jack followed suit.

“Agent,” Mrs. Rider said. “If you’re here . . . we thought this meant that Samantha was . . . killed by a serial killer.”

“I’m sorry,” Koz said quietly, “but this early in the investigation, we can’t say what happened. I’ll contact you if I have more questions.”

***

Jack closed the car door behind him. The rain beat down noisily on the vehicle’s roof, but at least it was dry inside. Koz had his notepad out in a second and was scribbling away.

“I’m putting down the parents as a soft maybe,” Koz said.

“Why?” Jack asked, utterly bewildered.

“There’s obviously at least some tension in the family if the daughter is keeping secrets from her mother.”

Jack snorted. “Kids don’t tell their parents everything.”

“I said it was a ‘soft maybe’, didn’t I?”

“But—“ Jack sought for the right phrasing. “They’re super Christian obviously. Wouldn’t it break the rules to sacrifice your daughter’s virgin heart and summon a . . .” He waved his hands. “ . . . Demonic creature?”

Koz’s brow darkened. “You’d be surprised what people can make excuses for. I knew of a devout Christian farming community that raised daughters specifically for the purpose of sacrificing them to ensure a good harvest.”

Jack stared. “That’s messed up. What did you do?”

“Turned them over to the police along with a mountain of evidence,” Koz said. “The police just thought they were some crazed cult and they all got locked away.”

Jack shook his head in disbelief. The weariness he’d been putting off all day was starting to hit hard. He felt as exhausted as if he’d spent the whole day at a track meet. He wished he weren’t wearing this monkey suit or he’d be able to curl up and nap. “Do you have any nice hunting stories?”

Koz was quiet a long moment. “I could tell you how Bunny got his nickname.”

“Oh?”

“It involves him getting turned into a rabbit.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Spoiler alert!”

“Oh no,” Koz smirked, “trust me, the synopsis does not do it justice.”

***
On a drizzly day like this, there was nothing Koz would’ve liked more than to curl up in bed with a hot cup of tea and not move the whole day. American weather had spoiled him. He used to be so accustomed to bad weather and now it just exhausted him. The approaching full moon didn’t help either. Jack had been transforming every night and he wasn’t sure about the exiles, but Koz was very likely going to change tonight as well. Koz was even feeling the daytime side effects: achy muscles, chills, and fatigue. But it was because the full moon was coming that Koz was rushing to wrap up this case.

Jack was holding up well, but he’d fallen asleep halfway through one of Koz’s hunting stories. It was so unlike him that Koz didn’t even try to wake him until after he’d pulled into the parking lot at the Rider family parish.

The rain pattered down on the car’s roof and made the world outside the windows look murky and strange. Koz shook Jack’s shoulder gently until the young man’s eyelashes fluttered open. “Are you feeling up to another interview?” He asked. “Or would you like to stay and rest in the car?”

Jack shook his head and slowly sat up. “I’m fine,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Where are we?”

“My Lady of Mercy parish,” Koz said.

Jack glared at the building over Koz’s shoulder. “I think I brought my dad to AA here once,” he grumbled. He sat up fully and straightened his suit.

Koz nearly reached across and straightened his tie, but thought better of it. Instead, he turned to look at the building at the edge of the car park. My Lady of Mercy was a drab, off-white building with tall windows and a roof in desperate need of repair. As Koz watched, a white vehicle pulled up to the curb in front of the church and parked. An older man got out of the driver’s seat and a girl around Jack’s age stepped out of the passenger’s side. “That must be Reverend Hammond and his daughter,” Koz said.

“Who are we interviewing first?” Jack said.

“We’ll talk to both of them at the same time. I’ll let you take one of them.”

“What?! “ Jack woke up fully at that. “Are you sure?”

“You’ll learn on the job,” Koz said, reaching out a hand. “Give me your notebook and I’ll write down some questions you could ask, but don’t be afraid to make some up. Take notes--names, places, times, and how they react to your questions. If there’s anything we think of later--we can call them.”

“Okay . . .” Jack said hesitantly. He pulled the notebook from his breast pocket and handed it over.

“You’ll interview the reverend,” Koz said, producing a pen from his own pocket.

“Wha—the old one? But the girl is my age. And the reverend is, y’know, a reverend! What if he like . . . smells the gay in me?”

Koz didn’t lift his gaze from the notebook as he scribbled down questions. “The girl was closer to our victim. She’ll likely have more pertinent information.”

Jack’s shoulders sagged. “Right.”

***

Reverend Hammond was in his late fifties to early sixties, with salt and pepper hair and pronounced wrinkles. His daughter was needle thin with a dark, curly bob and a small, pinched mouth like her father’s.

Koz felt Jack straighten his back as Koz called out: “Reverend Hammond?”

The reverend turned in surprise, a box of books in his arms as his daughter stood next to him, shielding him with an umbrella.

“Sorry to come on short notice,” Koz said. “I’m Agent Farida, this is my partner Agent Annie. We have some questions about the late Miss Rider.”

The reverend and his daughter shared a look as he resettled the box on his hip. “Of course,” the reverend said. “This is my daughter, Eleanor,” he held out a hand to shake Koz and Jack’s.

Eleanor clasped the umbrella handle with both hands and eyed the two of them warily. “’Farida’?” She said, “that’s an interesting name. Is it Islamic?”

“Er,” Koz said, caught slightly off guard. It was his mother’s name, but if he said that he would give away that it was fake. “It’s Arabic,” he said.

“Ah, I see.” She smiled unconvincingly.

“How about we go inside?” The Reverend said, his smile much more pleasant, but equally forced. He ignored the look his daughter gave him and smiled brilliantly at Koz. “All are welcome in the house of God!”

Oh, great. They were those kind of people. Koz resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he smiled blandly. “That sounds perfect,” he said. Ignoring Jack’s questioning gaze. “If it’s alright, I’d like to talk to you, Miss Hammond, while my partner will speak with you, Reverend.”

The reverend glanced toward his daughter in some concern, but agreed. Koz shot Jack a reassuring look and saw the young man, smelling of anxiety, silently brace himself. With a mask of confidence and professionalism in place, Jack didn’t even notice Koz’s gaze on him, he simply followed the reverend, taking long strides so he could move ahead of the older man and open doors for him.

Koz looked back to Eleanor to find her watching him with thinly-veiled hostility. It remained to be seen whether or not sending Jack with the reverend and not pairing him with Eleanor would turn out to be a good idea, but so far it was not looking good.

***

The reverend lead Jack down a flight of stairs to a large, open room. For a moment, Jack wondered if he was setting up for one of the AA meetings his father had stopped going to, but then the reverend spoke:

“I’m hosting the men’s Bible Study at six,” he said. “Is it alright if I do some of the set-up? I’m running behind.”

“That’s fine,” Jack said before he could wonder if it actually was. He’d ask Koz later. “This won’t take that long,” Jack said. He pulled his notepad from his breast pocket and tried to look like he wasn’t reading questions written down by someone else.

“Could you tell me a little bit about your relationship with Miss Rider?”

The Reverend slowed his actions, the lines on his face lengthening as he frowned. “I’ve known the Riders for years,” he said. “Our daughters grew up together. They were best friends.”

Jack wasn’t sure if that was worth writing down, but he scribbled madly to get it all. “Do you know anyone who had an issue with her?”

The reverend was quiet a long moment and Jack wondered if he was just thinking it over or if he should reiterate the question.

“Sam was fighting with Eleanor,” the Reverend said. He looked Jack in the eye and spoke firmly. “She wouldn’t have hurt her. I just want to answer your question honestly.”

The next thing Koz had written in his notes was ‘who would Sam have turned to if she had a problem?’ But Jack felt this might be one of those instances where he’d need to adlib. “What were they fighting about?”

The reverend frowned in obvious discomfort. For an instant, Jack nearly apologized and changed the subject, before he remembered he was supposed to be questioning this guy. He clenched his jaw and kept his posture straight in an unconscious effort to emulate Koz.

It must’ve worked for the reverend started to explain: “Sam was seeing a young man who was . . . into questionable pursuits.”

Jack frowned. “Like drugs?”

The man shook his head. “Like . . . witchcraft.”

Jack nodded because yeah, witchcraft sounded plausible, but then he realized that probably wasn’t the correct response. He raised his eyebrows. “Wow, witchcraft?” He winced, hoping the reverend didn’t notice how unprofessional that had sounded.

The reverend didn’t seem to notice. He nodded. “El told me about it. He had this pelt he used for Pagan rituals. She may exaggerate, but she doesn’t lie.”

Jack hurried to scribble this down. “Did Sam know about this?”

The reverend nodded.

Jack remembered how Koz had suspected the parents. Did they know? “What about her parents?”

The reverend shook his head. “It would’ve destroyed them to know Sam was willingly involving herself with someone like that. We decided not to tell them. At first, anyway.”

Jack frowned. That didn’t sound like a good call at all! His thoughts must’ve shown on his face. The color rose in the reverend’s cheeks. “I realize now this was wrong,” he said in a shaky voice. “I just thought that El and I could correct the situation without complicating things. As I told the other detectives, I went to her apartment the night she died.” He let out a long, shaky breath, face pinched in sorrow. “She told me that she was going to break up with him—she made me leave because he was coming over.” The man paused. He stared down at the Bible in his hands. “I suspected he might have been the one to kill her,” he said thickly. “But when I heard she . . . passed so unnaturally. I knew it must have been him.”

“The boyfriend?” Jack asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

The reverend’s hands tightened on his Bible. He looked up at Jack with hollow eyes and said: “The devil. He worked through that boy to corrupt Sam to wickedness and then when he had her in his clutches, he snuffed out her life and claimed her soul.”

Jack couldn’t decide if that sounded creepy or crazy. He settled on ‘disturbing’. And then he dutifully wrote it down.

***

Eleanor led Koz through a set of doors into a hallway. This must’ve been a Sunday school judging by all the happy, smiling caterpillars painted along the walls. They walked past doors covered in glitter and glue-covered crosses and bulletin boards bearing information on mission trips, faith-based lock-ins, and Vacation Bible School.

Eleanor lead him into a classroom intended for older students judging by the shift away from cutesy caterpillars to posters promoting abstinence.

“I’ve got to set up,” Eleanor said shortly. “You can ask your questions while I get ready.”

“That’s fine,” Koz said with purposeful pleasantness.

Eleanor started unstacking chairs from the back wall; a firm frown on her face.

“So I heard you were close to Samantha?”

Eleanor began arranging the chairs in a circle, not looking up at Koz. “We were.”

Koz took a step out of her way as she set a chair just next to him. “You were in club together?”

“We were.” The stacked chairs groaned and clattered as they were separated and Eleanor carried two of them to place next to the others.

“But she started dating one of the other club members and that’s against the rules?” Koz asked.

“No,” Eleanor’s façade crumbled as she glared at him. “We don’t discourage pure relationships between club members. Samantha and her boyfriend got kicked out because they were practicing witchcraft.”

“Oh?” Koz’s eyebrows rose and he pulled out his notepad. “Could you tell me about it? How did you find out about the witchcraft?”

Eleanor seemed a little surprised that he accepted her answer so easily. “We went on a double date with her boyfriend and his roommate. When we picked up Samantha she had this animal skin. I took a history class on local indigenous cultures last semester and I knew it was from the Yoku tribe. They were all devil worshippers who cast evil spells on settlers until the settlers chased them west.”

Koz nodded, Eleanor’s version of the truth was skewed. He’d have to work around that. “And you know that her boyfriend was involved with this?”

“She brought it to give to him, but I wasn’t going to have anything to do with any of them after that.”

Koz nodded as if sympathetic. “Samantha’s father knew about her boyfriend. Did he or Mrs. Rider know about this witchcraft business?” He asked.

Samantha shook her head and went back to putting out chairs, albeit slower than before. It seemed less like a tactic to put Koz off than it was something to keep herself grounded. “They didn’t know,” she said. “I wanted to tell them. She wasn’t listening to us, but my father wanted to convince her. I went to her house the day before she died but she just kept trying to tell me I was wrong and her boyfriend wasn’t like that and blah-blah-blah . . .” She slammed a chair down on the floor. “So I left. My father went to talk to her the next day. She was alive when I left, she was alive when he left.”

She straightened, her eyes roving the circle of chairs. “Her boyfriend definitely did it,” she said, crossing her arms and not meeting Koz’s eyes.

“What makes you think that?” Koz asked.

Eleanor looked at him like he was either stupid or crazy. “Because he was a witch and a devil-worshipper,” she said. “I knew something like this would happen. I wasn’t surprised when I heard . . . something unnatural happened to her.” Eleanor shook her head as if trying to shake off sympathy. Her expression hardened. “She deserved it, dealing with the devil like that. I’m sure it was God’s punishment.”

She walked around the chairs, putting distance between Koz and herself. “Sam’s boyfriend is named Gregory Keys and he lives in Collins—in the grad dorms.”

Koz quickly jotted this down.

“I have a women’s Bible Study group to conduct in ten minutes. They’ll start turning up any second,” Eleanor said. “You can see yourself out.”

“Yes, I can,” Koz said as pleasantly as he could. “If I think of any more questions, I’ll give you a call.”

Eleanor merely nodded in response, arms crossed, lips pursed. She had made it abundantly clear she didn’t want to talk to him, and Koz was happy to leave. He hoped if he had to call her later she would be a little more amenable, but he doubted it.

“Good day,” he said and slipped from the room, passing two casserole-wielding Bible Study attendees in the hall.

Jack was waiting for him at the door. He was standing quite straight, with his hands clasped behind his back, but the way he shifted on his feet gave away how uncomfortable he was. When he spotted Koz coming toward him, his shoulders sagged in visible relief.

“That bad, was it?” Koz asked as he approached.

“No, but I’m not sure I talked to him long enough,” Jack said. “You took longer.”

That was amazing considering how inhospitable Miss Hammond had been. “You’re still learning,” Koz said. “If you missed anything, we can call them or come back later. We can compare notes in the car.”

Koz led the way out of the church. The rain had lightened somewhat so they could walk calmly back to the car.

“Law and Order makes this look so much easier,” Jack said as he opened the passenger side door. “Just ‘dun-dun’ and boom, they’re there.”

“You should pay attention to those dates when they do that--a single case can take years to solve,” Koz said as he took his spot at the driver’s seat.

Jack stared at him. “This probably won’t take that long,” Koz said. “It’s the only case we’re working right now except for the Black Dog, and the trail’s still fresh . . . Figuratively.” The literal trail had been washed away with the rain.

“All right,” Jack said with a sigh. “Where to next?”