Chapter 8

The Sword and The Scone

Chapter 8: The Sword and The Scone

“Okay, Todd, let’s see if you have a message for me,” Wendell said, bracing himself to come face-to-face with Odd Todd’s dead body, and hopefully, his ghost, in his garage.

But the only thing he saw was Odd Todd’s rigor mortis’ed body.

“Come on, Todd, work with me!” Wendell pleaded to his dead case manager’s body. “If you’re in there still, give me a sign.”

He walked a circle around Odd Todd’s body, hoping to spy something, anything, that could help him.

“Wait… no way…” Wendell murmured to himself.

There was a jagged edge of ripped paper sticking out from one of the top pockets of Odd Todd’s DONHE uniform.

“How did I miss that the first time I saw him?” Wendell mused.

He gently tugged the note out of Odd Todd’s pocket. It had half an address at the top, and the handwriting was the same as the one on the torn lone wolf’s note that Stevie gave him.

“Hang on… this can’t be right…” Wendell continued.

He put the lone wolf’s part of the note Stevie gave him in his bedroom and retrieved it to see if what he suspected was right. Wendell lined up the ripped halves, and they made a whole. The note was complete.

It was an address with instructions of where to find the key into the house and ominous words demanding the reader go alone.

Wendell left the garage and sprinted for his phone. He speed dialed Aurora.

“The lone wolf wasn’t talking to the fake DONHE agent, Gideon Crow. He was talking to Todd!” Wendell said the second Aurora answered her phone. “We didn’t notice this when we moved Todd to the garage, but he had half of a note in his pocket.”

“You don’t think it’s a little fishy that the note was ripped into two? What could they possibly be doing with partial notes? It doesn’t make sense, Wen.”

“Maybe it was an accident,” Wendell said, trying to justify it.

“Well, whatever you’re thinking about doing? Don’t,” Aurora warned. “My cards were calling to me right before you phoned. I pictured you, and they practically leapt out of my deck. And what they told me? Wen, it’s not good.”

“No offense, Auri, but I don’t need your tarot cards to tell me that the outlook isn’t good. I can see that enough on my own,” Wendell sighed.

“Wen, I hear you, but I can’t in good conscience let you go blazing ahead with whatever you’re about to do. My guess is you’re actually going to that address. Let me come with you at least.”

“Not a chance,” Wendell said immediately. “You can’t … bounce back in the way I can.”

A broken arm, like the one he got in the silver mine cave on Hollow Road, would’ve taken Aurora out of commission for months. She probably would’ve needed physical therapy. Maybe even surgery. Wendell’s werewolf-enhanced accelerated healing meant his arm was back to normal a day later.

“You’re not in this alone, Wen. We’re here with you,” Aurora said. “Me, and Dani, and even though he’s your almost-ex-husband, Cayden too.”

“I know,” Wendell said. He knew what he had to do. But first, he had a familiar face to visit.

As it turned out, Violet wasn’t fully honest. She didn’t only work at a vegan bakery. She owned it. The Sword and the Scone was based in upstate New York; it actually wasn’t too far from Wendell’s part of Connecticut.

As he pulled into the parking lot, he saw the bakery’s sign looked like a jousting banner at a Renaissance Fair. Exhaling a deep breath, Wendell plucked up his courage and opened the door to the purple, medieval-inspired bakery.

A bell above the door cheerfully tinkled as he walked through it. It smelled like warm sugar and pie.

There were two huge bakery cases full of sweet treats. There were sugar cookies decorated to look like frog princes in need of a kiss, cupcakes frosted to look like dragons, and iced brownies with mini plastic swords sticking out of them.

On the counter by the register was a can decorated like a mini castle collecting money to feed local stray and feral cat colonies. Wendell slipped $5 into it.

A man in his twenties was sitting at the front counter by the register, spinning on a stool.

Wendell cleared his throat. “I’m here to see Violet.

“What? Dirk isn’t good enough for you?” The man gasped, standing up from the stool. He was over six feet tall and had huge biceps like Violet. “That’s me,” he said in a stage whisper. “I’m Dirk.”

“Wen,” Wendell said, gesturing to himself, “And I really do need to speak with Violet. It’s important.”

“Are you looking to… place a special order?” Dirk blinked his left eye like he was trying to clear away a glob of sticky gunk.

“Is your eye okay?” Wendell shrank away.

“It’s fine,” Dirk clenched his eye open and shut in another clumsy blink.

“I think you have something stuck in it…”

“No, he’s just being stupid,” Violet said, emerging from the back. “Why are you here, Wendell? I’m working.”

If Violet was surprised by Wendell’s sudden appearance, she didn’t show it. She looked just as exasperated as she did the day before.

Violet Sword by Brooke Helton

Tabby cat earrings swung from her ears and swipes of winged eyeliner swooped out above her eyes. Her long red hair was gathered into a thick, messy bun at the top of her head. She wore a floury Sword and The Scone apron and a cat print button-up shirt with cat faces embroidered on the collar.

“So no special order?” Dirk asked slowly.

“Dirk! Those salted caramel turtle pies aren’t going to take themselves out of the oven,” Violet said sweetly.

“Well, it’s too bad you never made me that Pie Daddy apron,” Dirk shrugged, “If I had those creds I would be on it in a snap,” he snapped his fingers.

“Is that a Calcifer tattoo on your wrist?” Wendell asked Violet.

“His ‘may all your bacon burn’ comment resonates with me on a deep level,” Violet shrugged.

“As a born and raised lifelong vegetarian, I feel the same way,” Wendell said. “Do you also have a Turnip Head tattoo?”

“No, but she has the Hocus Pocus cat on her foot,” Dirk grinned.

“Dirk! The pies!” Violet snapped.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Dirk grumbled. “You know, some brothers aren’t as generous as I am!”

“What do you want, Wendell?” Violet repeated impatiently.

“So the bakery is the family business too?” Wendell asked. “I brought something for you.”

“I don’t need anything,” Violet forced a smile, “And The bakery is my business. Dirk works here part-time.”

“Our sister Cassia is a nurse. She’s a beast with a needle and sutures,” Dirk enthused.

“Dirk! The pies!” Violet snapped.

“Fine! I’m! Going!” Dirk stormed to the back of the bakery.

The bell above the door tinkled as a man in all black approached the counter.

Wendell stepped off to the side. He could sense there was something off about this guy.

“Hey, I heard you guys make custom orders here,” the man said.

“What’s the occasion?” Violet asked and reached for a pad she kept by the phone.

“Great Aunt Lucy is hosting a garden party,” the man said without missing a beat.

“We sure do,” Violet smiled, smoothly swapping the order pad for another one under it. “You’re looking for, what? A pie? A cake?”

“Cake.”

“How many servings?” Violet asked.

“Three to five.”

“Are you looking for any filling?”

“Cherry.”

“Organic?” Violet asked.

“Conventional is fine,” the man shrugged. “We’re not fussy about that sorta thing.”

Violet noted it.

“You do delivery?” The man asked.

“With a smile!” Dirk shouted from the back.

“How soon do you need it?” Violet asked.

“This Friday doable?”

“Of course,” Violet said.

Wendell tried to focus on looking at all the baked goods while the two talked, but he couldn’t resist eyeing them. Violet was scribbling too much onto the pad for a simple cake order.

The man left without a goodbye.

“Was that… was that a hit?” Wendell whispered, “Did that guy put a hit out on some some some… demon or something?”

“Vampire,” Violet said.

“No way,” Wendell breathed. “So someone ordered a, what, Earl Grey cake for me?”

“Why Earl Grey?” Violet snorted.

“The wolf fur,” Wendell said instantly.

“Huh, I didn’t think of that. And no, that’s not even remotely close to the code word for werewolves,” Violet said.

“Well, if you’re going after a vampire, my dentist might be able to help,” Wendell said innocently. “He’s DONHE compliant.”

“Ok, and?” Violet asked.

“That means he works within the law,” Wendell said.

“So?” Violet shrugged, “I don’t. And I can handle my vampires.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Wendell said quickly. “It’s just that he has something that might help.”

Violet motioned for Wendell to spit it out already.

Wendell’s cheeks burned. “One of his specialties is vampire defanging.”

“Vampire defanging?” Violet’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah. He rips the fangs out and immediately fills the holes with a composite mix of items toxic to vampires and cauterizes them. He created the formula himself. The fangs can never grow back.”

“That’s incredible,” Violet gasped.

“The Howley-Kirkwoods aren’t like some of those other packs,” Wendell said proudly.

“Yo, wait,” Dirk shot into the room, “This dude is the werewolf you had me drive off the road, Vi?! Him?! Seriously?!”

“Seriously,” Wendell cringed. “That was you in that truck? You’re kind of a menace. I thought you were a demon.”

“I’ve never seen a fat werewolf,” Dirk said bluntly.

“It’s all the obese children I eat when I turn into a bloodthirsty monster three nights a month,” Wendell said.

Dirk burst into laughter, popped a fist out and bumped Wendell’s, then drifted back to the back room and the pies.

“The person who put out the hit on me, can you describe them?” Wendell asked.

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” Violet said. “They left me a typed letter in the bakery mailbox. I dusted it for fingerprints, and nothing. They must’ve worn gloves.”

“Can I read it?” Wendell tried.

“Absolutely not,” Violet said, “Now, tell me what you’re actually here for.”

“To give you something. It’s in the car,” Wendell said.

“Right. I’ll just follow you out to your car,” Violet crossed her arms.

“I’m not here to kill you, Violet,” Wendell groaned. “I could’ve let the crocotta in the cave have you if I really wanted.”

Violet narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms again.

“Fine,” Wendell sighed.

He found the biggest grocery tote bag he had and wrestled with the crossbow to get it to fit. It was bulky and bulged in the cheap plastic. It was heavier than it looked as he hauled it back into the bakery.

“I know you said it didn’t matter, but …” Wendell passed over the bag.

Violet gasped. “Freya,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper, running her finger across part of the crossbow like she was caressing a cat.

“In the flesh…er…wood and steel?” Wendell cringe-smiled.

“You came all this way to hand deliver my favorite weapon?” Violet asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “A weapon I use to kill werewolves?”

“Is that you telling me to walk out to the dumpster, turn around, and put my hands up?” Wendell asked weakly.

“You’re full of surprises,” Violet said. “And for the record, I don’t attack when backs are turned.”

“Maybe we should go somewhere private for the next thing I’m going to tell you,” Wendell squirmed where he stood.

“What now?” Violet sighed.

“When we were trapped in that cave together and–”

Violet shushed him. “Not here. The storeroom.” She charged into the room.

When the two were inside, she clicked the lock. She dropped down onto a huge cardboard box of foldable bakery boxes. Wendell paced in front of her.

“After we were in that cave, I realized something,” Wendell said slowly. He could hardly believe the words that came out of his mouth, but he knew deep in his soul it was right. “Together. If we work together, we can stop the people who’ve been targeting us.”

“Work together?!” Violet snorted. “I don’t think you get what monster hunters do, Wendell.”

“Am I a monster right now?” Wendell asked innocently.

“Maybe not on the outside,” Violet said. “But you looking human doesn’t fool me.”

“I don’t just ‘look’ human,” Wendell said, making finger quotes. “I’m a human and I’m a werewolf. But I’m not here to explain myself to you.”

“I’m surprised you’d turn against your own kind,” Violet said.

“My kind? My pack would never do any of this!” Wendell said fiercely, feeling full of pride for being a Howley-Kirkwood. “Not all werewolves are one and the same, Violet.”

Violet rolled her eyes.

“How would you feel if we were going after rapists and murderers, and I turned to you and said exactly what you said to me? If I lumped you in with the worst of the worst just because you share features and blood with them?”

“Wow, Wendell. Maybe you do have some bite to you after all,” Violet grinned. “What are you proposing anyway?”

“Someone is trying to pit us against each other. Why? I don’t know. But if we play along, maybe we can get to them before they get to us,” Wendell said.

“What, are you going to pretend to try to kill me?” Violet asked dryly.

“No, you’re going to pretend to kill me,” Wendell said brightly.

Violet’s eyebrows shot up.

“There are people out there who have a serious issue with me. Enough that they killed my therapist in front of me and my DONHE case manager and left his dead body in my backyard. There are also people who are framing you as a killer for said therapist, and a lone wolf you claim you had nothing to do with. Not to mention them attempting to run Dirk off the road and blowing up your stakeout.”

“Go on,” Violet said.

“My guess is they want you to believe it’s my fictional ‘pack’ of lone wolves and human lyc-chasers jumping to my defense. They want to give you more incentive to annihilate me. But why are they so eager to get me out of the way?” Wendell frowned. “All I did was capture a trio of hellhounds using a witch’s containment spell and had them taken to a cryptid sanctuary. Would you say that’s a reason to go after me with such a vengeance?”

“No, that doesn’t add up,” Violet said.

“Yet, here we are,” Wendell said, holding his arms up helplessly. “By now, they probably already know that you and I both got out of the silver mine caves on Hollow Road alive.”

“But, who are they?” Violet asked.

“I don’t know. That’s what we need to figure out. What if whoever they are is setting up their own werewolf pack and is just using me to take the fall for them? Once you killed me, they’d be in the clear to go on a biting spree with no one to stop them,” Wendell said grimly.

“So, do you think the person who hired me is part of this secret werewolf pack? Or a third party?” Violet asked.

“That’s what we need to figure out,” Wendell said.

Violet sighed.

“Yes, we. Hear me out for a minute, Violet. You called werewolves like me an invasive species. I saw you have a can collecting donations for feral cat colonies.”

“Yeah, and?” Violet asked.

“Well, a lot of biologists and environmentalists call stray and roaming cats an invasive species, because of all the birds and wildlife they kill. So it’s all about perspective, really, isn’t it?” Wendell asked.

“You want us to work together that badly?” Violet demanded skeptically. “Fine. I call the shots and make the decisions. And if I think you’re remotely close to betraying me, I will put you down.”

DONHE also wouldn’t hesitate to put him down, Wendell thought to himself, especially if they found out about what happened to Todd.

At least with Violet, Wendell might have a chance to keep living. He might not become another dead werewolf.

“Deal,” he said, sticking out his hand.

* * *

Talking to Cayden on the Howley-Kirkwood packlands was one option, but with the news Wendell was about to break to Cayden, he preferred a more neutral territory: the nature center and wildlife sanctuary where Cayden worked as a rehabilitator.

As Wendell pulled his rental car into the dirt parking lot, he saw a big yellow school bus.

Inside the nature center, Wendell followed the sound of Cayden’s voice.

“Who’s ready for some wolf fun facts!?” Cayden asked enthusiastically. “Wolf packs are families, and the alpha isn’t just the male, it’s also his mate. Alphas are a pair. They’re monogamous too, which means they stay together for their entire lives. Who here likes to play outside and explore?”

Excited voices cheered out.

“Wolves are born adventurers, too! They can travel over thirty miles in a single day to hunt prey, find shelter, and sometimes even to find a new pack to call home.”

Wendell hung back, trying to not look like he was eavesdropping or intruding. But he didn’t need to worry. All of the twenty-something kids in the elementary school class were hanging onto Cayden’s every word, riveted by the man’s passion.

“Wolves are blamed for killing livestock like cattle, but did you know the leading cause of their deaths are respiratory problems and attacks from coyotes? Wolves on the other hand? Their leading cause of death are humans! Poaching, trapping, poisoning, and hunting wolves is illegal in many states, but people still do it, and a lot of them get away with it.”

The kids cried out in dismay.

“I know, I know. It’s awful! Well, I hope today some of the myth-busting we did will help you be a friend to wolves,” Cayden said.

“Have you seen wolves here?” A child asked, mystified.

“Nope. There aren’t wolves in Connecticut, unfortunately. But, when I was doing my residency as a wildlife veterinarian, I worked at a wolf conservation center in upstate New York and took care of the most remarkable pack of juvenile wolves. It felt like they became a part of my family,” Cayden said warmly.

There was a glint in Cayden’s eye and a quirk to his smile as he said that, and Wendell knew that Cayden was aware of his presence.

“Thank you so much for all your time, Dr. Howley-Kirkwood,” the teacher practically swooned. “Class, do any of you have any questions or comments for Dr. Howley-Kirkwood?”

The students’ hands were up in an instant. Cayden fielded at least a dozen questions before the teacher intervened.

“Okay, everyone, Dr. Howley-Kirkwood is very busy, so just one more question.”

Cayden called on a boy who was practically jumping in place, waving his hand like a maniac. “It’s not a question, I just wanted to say I wish there was a wolf week instead of a shark week,” he gushed.

“I wish there was both!” A little girl chimed in.

“Well, maybe you can make a wolf week at your school. Why don’t you ask your teacher?” Cayden beamed at the woman.

She turned bright pink and giggled as she rounded her class of students up.

Cayden always had this effect on other people. Wendell felt like he was the only one immune to Cayden’s charms. Cayden never turned Wendell into a giddy mess.

“You’re always welcome here, Three Rivers School,” Cayden said kindly, following the class out to their bus in the parking lot. He waved them off as the school bus drove away.

“You’re so good with kids,” Wendell said, trying to break the ice in a sincere but casual way.

“What’s happening, Wen? I don’t think you drove all this way to praise me for my field trip presenter chops, although I’ll happily take the compliment,” Cayden smiled. “Where is your car anyway?”

Cayden never missed a beat.

“It’s in um, rough shape at the moment,” Wendell said honestly. “I had some car trouble.”

It was putting it lightly.

“I’m sorry for turning up like this without calling you,” Wendell said, and he meant it. “And I’m sorry for not answering your calls.”

“We missed you at Astrid’s baby shower,” Cayden said. He looked so crushed, so disappointed.

Wendell’s heart sank, and his stomach twisted. “I know. I’m sorry. I meant to make it, but got… something came up.”

“The car trouble?” Cayden tried.

“Among other … troubles,” Wendell cringed. He held up the brown paper bag in his hand. Inside it was Cayden’s favorite dessert from the nearby bakery: two bear claw pastries with extra icing.

“What’s that?” Cayden asked eagerly.

“A peace offering,” Wendell said.

“For what?” Cayden frowned.

“For what I’m about to tell you,” Wendell said, steeling himself for the fallout his next words were about to bring. “I’m working with Violet Sword.”

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