Chapter Twenty-one
His eyes were closed; he didn’t appear to be breathing. There was so much blood; I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Not in this light.
I leaned in, thought I felt the drift of his breath across my cheek, then the match burned down to my fingertips, and I dropped it, cursing.
Instead of lighting another, I scooted closer, ignoring the dampness of the ground beneath me and the metallic scent of blood all around me. Placing my palm on his chest, I closed my eyes.
I thought I detected a slight rise and fall, but I couldn’t be sure. I strained to hear something, anything, and caught a faint whistle.
I lit another match, and with it started the whole book on fire. The resulting conflagration revealed what the single, tiny flame had not.
Sullivan’s throat was a mess.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered as I tossed the matchbook into a damp corner where it hissed, smoldered, and went out. Then I punched nine-one-one into my cell phone.
The connection was fuzzy between the two buildings, but I didn’t want to leave him. Instead, I shouted to be heard and held on to Sullivan’s hand.
“Officer down!” That should bring them running.
I gave my name and our location, then agreed to wave them in as soon as I saw their sparkly red lights.
“Hang on, Conner.” I squeezed his hand and nearly jumped out of my skin when he squeezed back.
His eyes opened, shining far too brightly considering the lack of light. The wheezing whistle became louder. I wanted to put my hand over the gap in his throat, and then again, I didn’t. He tried to talk, coughed, and something gurgled.
“Don’t,” I urged. “The ambulance is on the way.”
“See it?” he managed.
I opened my mouth to ask what, but I knew. “The wolf?”
He smiled and closed his eyes. I took that as a yes.
“Eyes.” The word whispered out, low and desperate.
“Do they hurt?” My fingers fluttered over his face.
My knowledge of first aid was limited to CPR, which, from the size of the hole in his throat, was not going to do either of us any good. For all I knew, pain in the eyes signaled imminent death.
“No.” His hand tightened almost painfully on mine, which encouraged me. He was still strong; he didn’t seem to be fading. “The wolf’s.”
“What about them?”
“People eyes.” Sullivan took a deep, uneven breath. “Werewolf.”
“Sullivan,” I began, though I’m not sure what I planned to say.
His own eyes flew open and once again they seemed lit by an inner flame. Reaching up, he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and pulled.
“Knew them,” he said, so softly I would never have heard the words if we hadn’t been nose to nose.
“You knew the eyes?” I repeated.
He closed his in acknowledgment.
“Whose were they?”
Sullivan didn’t answer.
“Sullivan? Conner!” I shook him a little, but he’d passed out.
Sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer, shrieking louder than the crowds, the music, any howling there might have been out there in the dark.
As if someone had thrown a switch, silver light splashed into the alley, and I lifted my face to the cheery crescent moon that had climbed high enough to peek past the buildings shielding us.
I should have been happy for the illumination; instead I began to shiver.
The police arrived shortly thereafter; the ambulance right behind. The moon shone down like a beacon.
Emergency services stopped right outside the alley and ran toward us without being hailed.
Then the lights were too bright, the voices too numerous. I wanted to go back to my room and hide.
Especially since I was covered with blood, muck, and the remnants of that drunken guy’s cocktail.
Looked like I wasn’t going to get a chance to spit in his drink after all. Bummer.
I tried to call King, to tell him I wasn’t going to be able to work, but no one answered the phone at Rising Moon. A little while later I caught sight of him lurking in the crowd. The noise and lights must have drawn him out, though I had to wonder who was minding the store.
I lifted my hand, and he acknowledged me with a sharp nod and a scowl at all the hoopla. He wasn’t happy he’d be working solo, but he understood.
I scanned the crowd for John, but he wasn’t there. Perhaps he could help King, though cocktail- waitressing was probably beyond even his spectacular abilities.
Emergency services whisked Sullivan away as quickly as they could. No one would tell me if he would live or die; everyone appeared grim, especially when I told them what I’d seen.
“A wolf?” The detective, who’d identified himself as Mueller, shook his head. “There haven’t been any wolves in Louisiana for over two decades.”
“So I hear. But you got one now. A freaking big one.”
“How big?”
“About one seventy.”
“What you’re describing is impossible. A large male timber wolf would run about one twenty in Alaska.
Lower forty-eight they don’t get over eighty.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about wolves for an officer in a town that doesn’t have them.”
“We’ve had sightings. Of course in New Orleans, we get reports of black panthers, leopards, wild boars, and dragons, which usually increase in number and frequency right around this time of year.”
“I have no idea why,” I murmured as I watched the crowd weave drunkenly past.
“We’ve never found any of them.”
“I heard there was one rabid wolf in the swamp a year or so back.”
His brow lifted. “You’re awfully well informed for a newcomer.”
“People don’t become private investigators because they like the outfit.” Whatever it was. “Most of the time it’s because we’re curious.”