“Aw, now, darlin’ . . . crazy is not the word I was using. I said tired. That’s all.”

Sheriff Moore leaned in closer, imploring Jessica in a conciliatory tone of voice when she simply sucked her teeth and looked out the screen door. “You know I respect what your mother used to do, and you seem to have picked right up on her gift, too. She could see things. The whole department relied on her to help solve murders, since as long as I can remember . . . Why you know, the boys in Beaumont, Galveston, even as far as Houston would come see her when they couldn’t crack a case—and you’ve got her vision. That’s why I came to you for this one, especially after you helped us find that little girl before something even worse happened to her. You’ve got the gift, no arguing that. So, I wasn’t casting aspersions . . . but you’ve also been through a lot. Losing your job at the store in town, losing your momma . . . brother moving away just a year ago . . . I just thought—”

“That I was also losing my mind?”

“No, I didn’t say all that. You keep putting words in my mouth.”

“It was werewolves, Sheriff Moore. Plural.” Jessica said as calmly as possible. She stared at him and held him with her gaze. Thoughts of the way her father had been found years ago danced at the edges of her mind and caught fire, but she pushed the old haunting memory aside. “Those bodies you keep finding in West Port Arthur right off Sabine Lake are not all chewed up because of Mexican drug wars and gators feeding off of what’s left. Mark my words,” she added, standing and stretching, “if you comb down the Sabine Pass and the Sabine River, you’ll find more.”

The sheriff’s shoulders slumped for a moment, and then he finally pushed himself to stand. “Jess, honey, what am I gonna tell them federal agents, huh? They’ve been finding bodies up and down the Gulf of Mexico—that’s why they have FBI all over it with them boys from Homeland Security. They said drug warlords did it; I said fine by me, let’s bring ’em in. This is the U.S. of A.”

“It’s not that simple, Sheriff,” Jessica said quietly, hating to ruin the elderly man’s sanity with the truth.

He let out a hard breath and then carefully placed his hat back on his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “I was frankly trying to lay low and stay out of all this drug business, but when folks from the area started showing up missing, I had no choice but to report what we found. But facts being what they are, I can’t go telling them boys from up north about werewolves eating good townsfolk in the bayou and then dragging them across state lines to dump them in West Port Arthur, Jess! They’d have me committed.”

They stared at each other for a moment, both seeming to know that he hadn’t meant to raise his voice. He was in a ridiculous dilemma where the plain truth was totally unacceptable.

Still, Emma Atwater was many things, a whole mess of contradictions, but she didn’t lie to her children. Jessica remembered clearly that her mother had told her that Jessica’s gift was pressed down and overflowing compared to her momma’s own—no doubt an expression Momma had gotten from scripture readings on the rare occasion that she went to church. The one thing her momma couldn’t countenance was hypocrites, and since her momma could sense feelings and thoughts, church gave her the hives. Jess sent her gaze out the window, remembering how her mother would get so mad at the whisperers that said nasty things about her and her children behind their backs.

“I do miss her,” Jessica finally said in a quiet voice, trying to shift the subject to let the troubled officer off the hook. “Maybe that’s part of it?”

“I didn’t mean to holler at you, sugah . . . I’m just in a delicate position. I think you should maybe take a drive to get away for a few days. When you come back, then, we’ll talk . . . all right?”

Jessica nodded but placed her hand on Sheriff Moore’s forearm to stay his leave. “I want you to look at the pattern of the killings . . . the phase of the moon when they happened. Get a farmer’s almanac and just do that for me. You don’t have to tell anybody. Then, I want you to go to the Navajo reservation and ask the shaman there for two things . . . See if they can make some silver bullets for you and your men, and a potion bag filled with silver shavings, wolfsbane—”

“Jess, honey, please . . .” He closed his eyes and let out a weary exhale.

“Just do that for me in secret, okay? Wear the bag the shaman gives you. You were one of my mother’s oldest friends. She really liked you, and you all trusted each other. So trust me and her now.”

He opened his eyes and nodded, becoming misty at the memory. “She was good to me and my wife when we lost our boy . . . That’s how I came to know her. She helped me find his body and who killed him. So I feel like I should be looking out for her baby girl, too . . . and this just hurts my soul to hear you talking out of your head like this, honey.”

“Well, my momma is standing right beside you,” Jessica said quietly, briefly nodding toward his left.

He glanced around quickly and spoke in a nervous voice. “She used to do that . . . would go see the other side and ask questions.”

“Yeah, I know. It was really a trip growing up with her.” Jessica let go of his arm. “Then again, I used to freak her out, too.” Inclining her head to Sheriff Moore’s left, Jessica spoke to what appeared to be thin air. “So he’ll believe me, Momma, tell me what he had for dinner last night?” After a few moments passed, Jessica shook her head. “Bourbon ain’t no dinner. At your age you need to be taking better care of yourself.”

“You think I should really get the silver bullets?”

Jessica nodded. “And the bag . . . And don’t go hunting for these suckers without those bullets when it’s a full moon.”

Two

IT was clear that Sheriff Moore wasn’t going to listen to her, clear as a bell rung in church at high noon. The old man was gonna get himself killed for sure. Better stated, he was gonna get eaten. Her conscience wouldn’t allow for that; her mother had brought her up right, after all. Plus, these beasts were encroaching on her hometown. Had taken a couple of young kids in high school that were making out after dark by the lake. Wrong place, wrong time, and tore ’em up so badly, according to the sheriff, that their families didn’t have much left to put in a casket. Now that was just wrong.

Jessica walked to the refrigerator and opened it, looking for more lemonade. Her cell phone was pressed to her ear, and she glanced up at the clock. At two in the afternoon, Raph wouldn’t be up yet. When it rolled over to voice mail, she muttered a curse under her breath and hit redial. “Answer the danged phone!”

“What?” Raphael said in a sleepy, irritated tone. “I was working till four.”

“I’m sorry,” Jessica said, squeezing her eyes shut. True, her brother had been working at the strip club until four, but he hadn’t gotten to sleep until eight and still had company in his bed. “I . . . I . . . just need to ask you a favor.”

She heard Raphael get up and start moving.

“Stay out of my business, boo. You might see what you ain’t ready to deal with, calling me all early . . . You supposed to be psychic, so you just oughta check if—”

“My bad, but I need to ask you for—”

“Some money.”

Quiet settled on the line between them.

“Never mind,” she said, hurt, about to hang up.

“Now there you go, all proud. I have been waiting for the last two years for you to just call me up and let me help you, boo. What’s the matter with you? You’re my baby sister, so why you feel like you can’t ask me for help? That hurts me, Jess.”

“I’m trying to hold on to Momma’s trailer,” she said as her voice cracked. “I’m trying to hold on to everything she was and did, and I’m not able . . . Then I gave the sheriff a tip, like she used to, and he thinks I’m crazy.”