Wolf sat perched on a wooden stool, a tad too low for the bench he was bent over. His brows were met in a frown and he pinched the middle of them between his thumb and forefinger. In the center of his large cabin was a wooden table. It was built of thick wood and spanned at least twice the length of any normal dining table. He sat at one of the many benches that encircled the lower room. On almost every surface lay piles of books, with two exceptions. In one corner of the room some vials of strange coloured potions were scattered about. In another spot near the furthermost frosted window the entire bench was covered in a number of herbs and other plants.

Wolf had open one of his many books, out on the bench in front of him, and he was leaning over it reading in puzzled silence. The cabin had a lower floor with an open area for books and occasionally cooking although any cooking that Wolf did here wasn’t typically the eating kind. There were two rooms and a bathroom through a door in the back. Along the edge of the back wall near the door a ladder lead to the upper floor, an area open to the main room and which contained Wolf’s bed and several stacks of more books.

Their last adventure had left Wolf with many questions, about mimics and necromancy, and the Splice hole; a gap between the worlds. He’d always thought the path between worlds had been a fairy story, something literal fairies used to trap unwary souls. But he’d seen it, seen enough of it. Sure people often come up with fantastic technology that just came out of nowhere, often rumoured to be stolen from the human world and brought back by world jumpers or through Splice holes. Truth be told, Wolf had always thought it had mostly been world jumpers, even though he’d never met one. It was one of the rarest powers a witch could have.

Wolf was not a witch. Wolf was a werewolf. Yes the name was a bit ironic but his parents evidently hadn’t thought through the possible outcomes when they’d decided to name him Wilfrid. Of course no other child had called him Wilfrid when he had been young, they’d all called him Wolf, and so the name stuck.

Werewolves didn’t often socialise within society. He was unusual in this. Going to school had always been something Wolf had wanted, and in this his parents had indulged him. Something they had later regretted, but it suited Wolf just fine. By witch standards Wolf was no socialite but he interacted with enough people to not be considered a loner either.

Werewolves were known for their hyper sense of smell. He could find anything better than any blood hound. And somehow this town, Little Rock, it seemed to get a lot of disappearances. Although, really what was more surprising was that there was usually someone willing to pay to find one of the disappearances. But it happened often enough that Wolf made a good buck off it. That and supplying potions and information, mostly about potions, plant life or magic. Even though he didn’t have powers there were still spells.

Weirdly enough it was a rare witch that practiced spells. Most got by on their own powers. Spells were hard and unpredictable. They often had high prices and rare ingrediants, not to mention time, effort and a certain level of skill to begin with. But they interested Wolf and so he studied them and the information he found he would pass along for the right price. Wolf had no magic beyond his basic shapeshifting and enhanced senses but he could still use magic if a witch with the borrower power imbued an item with a particular type of magic. It was these sorts of items that Wolf would sometimes use in spells. Items known as infusements. Most of his spells only did small things. The strength of the borrower mattered and even then borrower imbued objects never lasted forever, and they were bloody expensive. Spells, as they were defined, generally consisted of combining several different types of borrower magic in unique ways, but occasionally they used just one magic in a type of ritual.

Today Wolf was investigating a particular spell. Not because he wanted to cast it but because he’d recently seen it casted and wanted to know if it was the sort of spell that was likely to last. The book that lay in front of him was one of his rarer ones, one he usually kept hidden away. It was the sort of book that if the wrong person saw it and word got out then Wolf would likely come home to find the whole place ransacked. Despite being rather fond of his belongings this particular book also contained some very dangerous spells, spells that could bring the dead back to life, at least in theory.

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A knock on the door drew Wolf from his studies with some reluctance. I twas probably a client, someone in need of something found.

He moved, slowly, toward the door. He was busy enough and spent little enough that he felt he had the power to pick and choose. The only thing he really valued were books.

He opened the door to find a woman standing there. He couldn’t tell if she was older or younger than he but he felt at the least that they were not from the same worlds. It wasn’t a class difference, she didn’t stick out as rich, no, it was something else, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He recognised her and it took him a moment to place her. She was the mother of a girl who he’d found not long before he’d left on his last adventure; a runaway, or so it had seemed at the time. He frowned now that the details were coming back. There had been something off about the stepfather.

Wolf took in a deep breath. The scent helped. It was a lesser known fact that memory was strongly tied to scent, and the other senses too, but for a werewolf scent always stuck out the most.

“Please, you have to help me. Briana’s gone missing again. I’ve looked in all the usual places, and the place you found her last time. I don’t know where she could be.”

“Hmm,” Wolf grunted, thinking it over. He would say yes. He knew he would, but he just felt he needed to think first. He hadn’t given this one enough thought last time. He’d been distracted. This time he’d make sure he did right by the child. Sometimes that meant not finding them until you had all the information.

“Please,” she begged again, bringing her hands together.

Wolf gave a nod and felt a pang of regret as he watched her features collapse into an expression of relief.

“Where did you last see her?” he asked as he turned his back on her and headed back to put his earlier books away. It would not do to leave these particular ones out.

He went with the woman back to her place and they retraced the child’s steps as far as they could before Wolf transformed and resumed tracking alone on all fours.

He found the body not far from the house. He’d known almost the moment he’d shifted. He could smell the blood. Someone had covered her up with dead leaves and rotten branches but it was a poor attempt. Anyone stumbling over it would have found it. He wondered how the mother hadn’t done so during her searches. But when he saw her face he knew. She had already known, she’d simply been hoping he’d tell her something different.

She didn’t wail or cry and somehow that was worse than if she had.

“You need to phone the police.” Wolf told her.

She paled, if possible even more than she already had, and shook her head.

Wolf glanced at the house and frowned. Two small faces peaked out from between blue curtains.

Wolf sighed and nodded. That was the way it was sometimes. The police would take their time and she had too much more to lose.

He gave her some numbers but she was reluctant enough to take them that he knew they wouldn’t make it inside the house. She likely didn’t have the cash to pay anyone who could actually help anyway.

He still kept her payment for the search though. He had to. Setting a presidence was important in this line of work and there were just too many cases like this. It was why he always took the cash up front.

He returned to his workshop with a heavy heart wondering if it wouldn't have been better to just give her her money back. But perhaps there was something else he could do.

He glanced sideways at where it necromancy book lay hidden. The girl had only been dead a few hours. He thought of her stepfather still alive. But even with a sacrifice a few hours was long enough to need a bloody good necro, and Wolf didn’t know any that good. He was sure Coal did but he didn’t want to guess at that price.

Perhaps it would be enough to just rid her of her demon. There were after all still two other children in that house. The police might help but if they didn’t..? Getting the Werewolves involved wouldn’t do, beside he hadn’t been on best terms with his pack lately anyway. They’d always disapproved of him for spending too much time with witches. There were others though who might help. Cat for example, with her history all she’d need was a whisper in the ear and she’d have no problem chasing that problem down. But Cat could also be a loose cannon and just as subtle as one. Sometimes telling her about these sorts of things was more trouble than it was worth.

He leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes. Four hours later and nearly evening he still hadn’t come to a decision.