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Which brought us right back to budding serial killer. Or two.

  “Would you be able to give me a list of all the animals you treat that are black?” she asked.

  “If the owners agree.”

  Wisconsin statutes allowed the release of veterinary records with permission from the owner.

  “Why would anyone care about the release of the color of their pet’s fur to the police?”

  “Never can tell,” I answered.

  If there was one thing I’d learned in this job, it was that people were a lot stranger than animals.

  *

  At five-thirty, Joaquin flicked the lock on the front door and turned off the waiting room lights, then followed me through the exam room to the rear exit.

  Trees ringed the parking lot that backed my clinic. Only my Bronco and a waste receptacle occupied the space. However, I’d had a night-light installed, and it blazed bright as the noonday sun.

  “Sorry to leave you with the Horace and Tigger problem,” I said.

  “It was my fault for letting Horace run free.”

  It had been, and I bet he never did it again. Between patients I’d seen him sweeping up dirt from an overturned potted plant and wiping the floor beneath one of the chairs. It was anyone’s guess if Horace had peed and Tigger had knocked over the plant or vice versa.

  I’d never had a better assistant than Joaquin. His long-fingered, gentle hands calmed the wildest pet. He also had the best manners of any adolescent in town, not that there’d been much of a contest. From what I’d seen of the Three Harbors youth, being a smart-mouthed, uber-delinquent was the current fashion.

  “You going home or did your mom work today?”

  Joaquin lived in a trailer park outside of town. Not a long trip, but one that involved a sketchy stretch of two-lane highway, with only a bit of gravel on the side. I didn’t want him walking it after dark, and at this time of year, dark had come a while ago.

  “She’s working.”

  “You’re going straight to the cafe?”

  His lips curved at my concern. “If you saw where we lived before we came here … This place is safe as houses my mom says. Although I don’t really know what that means beyond really safe.”

  Three Harbors was safe, at least for people, which reminded me. “Have any of the kids been talking about…” I wasn’t sure what word to use. Did they call Satanism something else these days? And if so, what? “Cults?” At his blank expression, I kept trying. “Sects? Devil worship?”

  “That’s why the chief wanted the list of black animals?” His voice was horrified. “Someone’s killing them?”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “What do we know?”

  I hesitated, but now that I’d opened the door, I couldn’t close it without freaking out Joaquin worse than he already was.

  “There are several cats, a dog, and a rabbit missing. They’re all black, which almost surely rules out a feral dog, coyote, or wolf.”

  He nodded. The kid nearly knew as much about animals as I did.

  “I was thinking that since it’s so close to Halloween maybe some kids were messing around. Hear anything?”

  “No one talks to me at school.” He twitched one shoulder in an awkward, uncomfortable, half shrug. “I’m Mexican.”

  Three Harbors didn’t have a lot of Mexican-Americans. In fact, now that Joaquin and his mom were here, we had two.

  “I don’t fit in,” he continued. “I’m dark and foreign and new.”

  Joaquin was a beautiful boy—ebony hair, ebony eyes, ridiculous lashes—also ebony—smooth cinnamon skin.

  “Doesn’t that make you exotic and exciting?”

  “Not,” he muttered.

  “No one’s talked to you?”

  “Teachers. I heard one of the kids saying that I didn’t speak English.”

  “And what did you say to that?”

  “Hablo Inglés mejor que usted habla Español, estúpido.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “You understood me?”

  “I’d have to be estúpido not to understand estúpido. Once I got that much, the rest wouldn’t really matter. Have you been participating in class?”

  “Have to.”

  “In English?”

  He cast me a disgusted glance. “Have to.”

  “Then why would anyone think you couldn’t speak the language?”

  He rolled his eyes the same as every kid I’d ever met. “Hence my use of estúpido.”

  I pursed my lips so I wouldn’t laugh. I liked this kid so much. Why didn’t everyone?

  Because kids were mean. I knew that first hand.

  But were they mean enough to sacrifice helpless, harmless animals?

  I hoped not.

  *

  I lived in an efficiency apartment above my clinic. When I’d taken over Ephraim Brady’s practice after college, it was part of the deal.

  My mother hadn’t wanted me to move to town, but it wasn’t practical to live on the farm when over half of my business was done in the office. Not to mention the small kennel where we housed post-and pre-op patients, boarders, and strays. In the winter, I might be prevented from making it into the office for a day or two, and then what? If I was already there … half the battle was won.

  I exchanged my khaki trousers—which repelled animal hair better than most—for track pants, my white blouse—out of which anything could be bleached—for an old T-shirt. I covered that with an equally old sweatshirt, switched my comfy shoes for the expensive running variety, then grabbed a hat and gloves, put my cell phone in one pocket, my keys in the other, and trotted down the stairs and out the door. Time for my nightly wog—my twin brothers’ word for the walk-jog I did to stay in shape.

  Instead of wogging down Carstairs Avenue—the main street of town was named after my family. The Carstairs had lived in Three Harbors from the beginning, which, according to the welcome sign, had been in 1855—I took the path into the forest.

  Three Harbors was a small town, but it was also a tourist town, and these days that meant bike paths and hiking trails. They were well lit and meticulously maintained. I still kept mace on my key ring. I couldn’t very well jog with a nine millimeter. Even if I owned one.

  The forest settled around me, cool and deep blue-green. The trail had lights every few feet, some at ground level, others high above. Still, I rarely ran into anyone after dark, and I loved it.

  My feet beat a steady wump-wump. That combined with the familiar crunch of the stones beneath my shoes at first drowned out the other sound. But eventually, I heard the thud of more feet than two.

  At the edge of twilight, loped a huge black wolf.

  About the Author

  Lori Handeland is a two time RITA Award winner and the New York Times bestselling author of the Nightcreature Novels, a paranormal romance series; The Phoenix Chronicles, an urban fantasy series; and the Shakespeare Undead historical fantasy series. She also writes Western historical romance under the name Lori Austin. Lori lives in Wisconsin with her husband, and enjoys occasional visits from her grown sons.

  Check out both of her websites at www.lorihandeland.com and loriaustin.net. You can sign up for email updates here.

  Titles by

  LORI HANDELAND

  Sisters of the Craft

  In the Air Tonight

  Heat of the Moment (coming July 2015)

  Smoke on the Water (coming August 2015)

  The Phoenix Chronicles

  Any Given Doomsday

  Doomsday Can Wait

  Apocalypse Happens

  Chaos Bites

  The Nightcreature Novels

  Blue Moon

  Hunter’s Moon

  Dark Moon

  Crescent Moon

  Midnight Moon

  Rising Moon

  Hidden Moon

  Thunder Moon

  Marked by the Moon

  Moon Cursed

  Crave the Moon

  The Shakespeare Undead Serie
s

  Shakespeare Undead

  Zombie Island

  Anthologies

  Stroke of Midnight

  My Big, Fat Supernatural Wedding

  No Rest for the Witches

  Hex Appeal

  Praise for the Phoenix Chronicles by

  LORI HANDELAND

  DOOMSDAY CAN WAIT

  “A striking series … with a decidedly sexy edge. Readers again view the world through the eyes of ex-cop-turned-humanity’s-savior Liz Phoenix [in] this complex mythology.”

  —RT Book Reviews (4 stars)

  “We really enjoyed it … and are looking forward to [more] in this series.”

  —Robots & Vamps

  “Cool … exciting.”

  —Lurv à la Mode

  “Fascinating, vivid, and gritty.”

  —Fallen Angel Reviews

  “Handeland does an amazing job of packing so much punch into the pages of this story without ever leaving the reader behind. Doomsday Can Wait ups the paranormal and emotional content of the series, adding strength to the heroine and a more human touch to one of her closest allies. This is an action-packed series that urban fantasy readers should thoroughly enjoy, and I’m looking forward to seeing where the author takes us next.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “Handeland pens another tale that captured my heart…with captivating characters [and] an absorbing plot that will keep readers on the edge of their seats.”

  —Romance Junkies

  ANY GIVEN DOOMSDAY

  “Handeland launches the intriguing Phoenix Chronicles urban fantasy series with a strong story … the demons’ evil plans and vividly described handiwork create immense suspense for the final battle.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Fascinating. A fast-paced thriller that will have readers looking for book two.”

  —Kelley Armstrong

  “A fresh, fascinating, gripping tale that hits urban fantasy dead-on. Don’t miss this one.”

  —L.L. Foster

  “Sexy, dangerous, and a hot-as-hell page-turner! Lori Handeland world-builds with authority.”

  —L. A. Banks

  “Handeland is back with a striking new series, narrated by a heroine thrown headfirst into a fairly apocalyptic scenario … With sex and power intertwined, Handeland looks to have another winner of a series on her hands!”

  —RT Book Reviews

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Teaser

  About the author

  Also by Lori Handeland

  Praise for the Phoenix Chronicles

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  IN THE AIR TONIGHT

  Copyright © 2015 by Lori Handeland.

  Excerpt from Heat of the Moment copyright © 2015 by Lori Handeland.

  All rights reserved.

  For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

  eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].

  eISBN: 9781250019745

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / June 2015

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.