The Search

Gallard took in the apartment. The reek of urine and frying fish permeated the graffiti-stained hallways of the building, but the girl’s apartment was clean and trim. High quality bio-locks secured the door and windows. No one could come in that she didn’t want in. A neat stack of books lay on the table: molecular biology, genetics, and…European folktales and legends. He opened the last to a bookmarked page, knowing what he’d find–the story of the werewolf.


“Ms. Lang, I’m Detective Pope. I have some questions about your sister.” He held up a Denver PD badge.
“My sister? She’s dead. That was five years ago. Anything else?” She moved to shut the door.
The cop’s expression didn’t change. He put a foot in the door to keep it open. “We’d like to know what happened the night she was killed.”
Tati opened the door but didn’t let the cop into her apartment. “Look, Detective, like I said, that was five years ago. In Romania. We were camping and a dog or wolf or something attacked our tent. We tried to fight it off, but it just kept coming. I went through all of this with the local cops.” She closed her eyes and thought for a moment. “There was a Romanian detective. His name was Moranu or Morsanu or something. I probably still have his card somewhere.”
“Detective Inspector Muresanu. We have his report.”
Tati straightened. “If you have his report why are you talking to me? What’s going on? Why do you have a five-year old police report from Romania? Did you track down the wolf?”
“That’s funny, Ms. Lang.” He wasn’t smiling.


“When Tatiana Lang was in Romania five years ago she and her sister were attacked at a campground. The sister died. Local police said it was a dog or maybe a wolf. Ms. Lang was torn up pretty bad, but left the hospital a day later. Get with INTERPOL and see who released her. And see if there were other attacks.”


“Do you think this life is something I chose? Some moron in Romania didn’t quite rip my throat out. If he had, I’d be dead and the eighty-some other people I’ve killed would be alive. He left me alive because he couldn’t finish the job. And because of him, every full moon I become the beast.”
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“The police are on your tail, Ms Lang. You need to disappear and I’m offering you sanctuary. Broken Bow Ranch sits on half a million acres of wilderness in the Flathead Range of Montana. The full moon is coming and you can hunt without fear.”
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On the Hunt

“Do consider Colorado, my dear. You’d be surprised how many werewolves live there. On a full moon, you can hunt deer and elk in the mountains.”

He poured another drink. “Or there are human prey in Denver, if you prefer the old ways.”