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There was a knock at the huge front doors.
"Solveig?" the call came.
"Ja, I've got it, Herr Hennemann," was the hasty reply. The servant was learning English and practiced it every opportunity she had. Yet as she opened the door, she squealed and launched into a stream of German which was as enthusiastic as it was long.
"Solveig," Henneman fussed from the other room, dropping his paper and grumbling his way into the entry hall. "What's all this nonsense--" He stopped abruptly as he caught the scene at the threshold.
There stood Lacey, a meek smile on her face as she dropped her bags lightly and stretched out her arms for a hug. She saw his face brighten, and soon they were embracing warmly.
"Lacey! I had not expected to see you so soon; what a wonderful surprise!"
"Well, I have a new case, but... I have to admit that I missed you, ya big lug."
"My niece, the ever-determined private investigator." Hennemann sounded proud as a peacock as he held her at arms' length for examination. Lacey watched the skin of his eyes near the temples crinkle as he smiled. "It is so good to see you like this; almost back to your old self. The trip to Rittersberg has done wonders for you! Well, don't just lurk in the doorway, come in and sit down. You must tell me about this new case of yours."
His niece obligingly followed behind him as Solveig took up her things, beaming at the returned "madchen".
The other Lacey had been, conveniently enough, a private investigator. Therefore it was a simple enough matter for this Lacey to cover her role as Schattenjager, able to poke her nose in where it didn't belong without seeming like a complete jerk.
On the way to the inner rooms, Lacey discreetly fiddled with the silver, ruby-studded Ritter talisman under her blouse. Cursed thing was so heavy she felt like her neck would break from the weight of it.
Then as she touched it there was an unexpected burst of light... images completely alien to her current surroundings elusively flickered, interposing themselves between her glimpses of the steel blue walls ahead. Lacey stumbled into a table of cherry wood.
IT had been here. A Thing... a Beast... a predator, an eater of raw flesh.
Green leaves spinning. Auburn fur in a death spiral. Hungry golden eyes. Ivory fangs.
Lacey gasped and clawed at the empty air frantically, still not seeing what was really there. She tried to push away the muzzle of her hairy assailant. This unclasped her fingers from the talisman, and the hellish slide show stopped. She saw her uncle reaching out to grip her arm. "Lace--" Hennemann began, fearful that his niece might still be hallucinating. He must have turned around at exactly the wrong moment. Lacey shook her head to halt him.
"I'm fine," she stressed calmly. "I just had a... memory flash. Never mind it now. Let's go in and sit down; that will make me feel better."
Hovering like a nervous mother bird, Hennemann led her to the couch and made her sit. In a forcibly low, steady voice, she cautiously revealed the general outline of her new case. "Well, I'm investigating the death of a girl from Rittersberg. Her name was Toni Huber. Her parents enlisted me to find whoever--er, whatever did it. The mother saw a huge, reddish wolf. Probably a hybrid," she added hastily, "but you never know... it might have been a very human killer with the disease lycanthropy. Dressed up in a furry reddish costume, that is."
"Oh... I see." Hennemann's pudgy yet endearing face waxed apprehensive. "My niece, you must be watchful of this, you know. It sounds hazardous. And you know your old uncle could never do without you, eh?" He clapped her on the shoulder.
Uh-oh. Lacey thought to herself that his intentionally carefree tone was about as subtle as a key interlacing with the lock of a cage door. His overprotective nature would kick in soon, as she'd read in her double's diary, and then she would never get anything done. It was very necessary to brush his worries aside.
A breezy, natural smile spread over her cheeks, and she tapped him with her knuckles congenially. "Hey, nothing I can't handle here. I know self-defense techniques. No crazy animal, human or non-human, has a chance with me. The cowardly thing has only attacked a child so far, right? I bet it'll have a bit more trouble handling a grown woman." Not to mention a Schattenjäger, Lacey thought. "Besides, I wouldn't go off recklessly endangering myself when I'm just beginning to live again." Doing her best not to sound foolish, yet fairly certain of her safety, Lacey topped off her performance with another smile. She then held her breath and watched her uncle's reaction. Fortunately, he seemed placated and segued to another topic.
Apparently, he had plans for the weekend; some kind of fancy formal dinner, and he joked about not having a date for the event.
Eventually, as Lacey had known he would, Hennemann remarked, "You know that I would love to have you along. I could show you off to my friends from Die Koniglich Bayerische Hofjagdloge."
'The Royal Bavarian Hunting Lodge', Lacey's mind translated. Then it took things a step forward, for the second time that day. The talisman felt suddenly warmer. 'Hunting lodge, hunting lodge... hunt club.'
Her mind's eye jerked again, flipping to remembered images so fast her brain couldn't quite take hold of them enough to be of use. There were assorted visages, some with more frightening connotations than others, but all of them leaving her disturbed and dismayed. There was only one face in the shadows that she could not identify at all.
That clinched it. The hunt club members were the most likely candidates for psychotic behavior, according to her fragile memory. When the psychic flare had passed and her uncle's face came into view again, Lacey forced a girlish laugh, agreeing. "You and your healthy ego will be pleased to hear that showing me off is a distinct possibility. Let me see if I can dig up a dress and I'll let you know."
Oh, inwardly, she knew she'd find something. She was going to that dinner. It was her first and best lead. If she had to, she'd wear a terrycloth bathrobe and fuzzy bunny slippers, dammit.
Chapter 5-The Banquet
Lacey felt like a fairy-tale princess.
Herr Hennemann had escorted his niece to the dinner in a stylish black limousine. She had protested from the first sight of it that this was too much, but her words were in vain. Hennemann had insisted that he wanted this to be a special night for her. He had also sent her out shopping earlier in the week, strolling the length of Marienplatz in a cascade of golden sunlight to pick out her evening gown. She'd searched dilligently for something that would please and flatter her, yet suit the occasion and her uncle's tastes. The effect of her choice, she mused, was worth every penny.
The gown Lacey had selected was a milky silver. To see her form draped in its velvety folds, a romantic person might imagine that Selene had pulled down the moon and fashioned it into a creation of cloth. The scoop neck, the curved bodice, the peasant sleeves and the matching lace additions all suited her perfectly, accentuating her best features in a modest yet indisputably alluring manner. The shadows caused by its almost metallic sheen further served to highlight, and to captivate the eye.
Lacey had also taken a certain amount of care with the trimmings. Glossy ebony waves spilled out behind her neck and over her shoulders, most of them loosely captured by a clip. The hair ornament looked like bood poured out into the shape of a jewel and laid in a silver setting. Against the backdrop of her black hair, it seemed to darken and thicken. At one wrist, a bracelet of tiny crimson gems dangled, swinging to and fro with every gesture she made. To complete the established effect, the Ritter family talisman clung to its chain, hanging from her neck and resting against her chest. It perfectly matched the ensemble, yet it also made a bold statment. No other person in the room wore quite such a large and ornate piece of jewelry, and nothing else looked anything like it. The rubies embedded in the metal gave off a fiery glare, and the intricate depiction of a lion fiercely battling a serpent fairly screamed, "I am Schattenjäger, hear me roar." Lacey almost chuckled aloud. It felt daring to wear the talisman outside her clothes, like a secret message to the Beast, if he should truly happen to be here.
It had been a dilemma of sorts. She knew the talisman was important to her health and her safety, but the flashes of memory were disturbing. What if she were to suddenly have one at a critical moment? It would be... inconvenient, to say the least, if she were to go comatose just before a night-creature leapt at her. In the end, she had nevertheless decided that she'd be better off with it than without it. Besides, there was no reason to think the creature would attack her tonight; it probably didn't even know of her existence just yet. However, depending on the circumstances, it might become aware of her this evening.
The banquet hall was absolutely monolithic in size. The lights glowed golden, softened by the refraction of more than a thousand chandelier crystals and occasionally winking at the dancers on the floor. Open french doors exposed the room to a fresh night breeze which drifted inward, ruffling linen tablecloths along its way. The clink of colliding glasses and the soft murmur of conversation was heard as an undertone to the gentle, poignant music resonating from the walls to the rafters.
A politician friend of Hennemann's was the guest of honor here. Lacey found herself wondering what breed of man he was. Perhaps the underlying strangeness of this whole evening was a result of this friend's peculiarities, but Lacey found it more likely that her new universe held a greater amount of historical differences than she'd suspected. Perhaps here, those french doors were invented by Germans. You never could tell.
Lacey was so involved in her quiet wonderings that she never even heard the footsteps above the hum of various sounds. Not until the advancing stranger advertised his presence by evoking her uncle's name was she made aware of his presence.
"Why, you sly old buzzard," he lazily purred. The speaker of these words reminded Lacey irresistibly of a fox. It was his eyes--the lids languorously drooped in the illusion of relaxation, calculated to show as little as possible of the cunning orbs behind them. The rest of him displayed muscles, a stocky build, and a youthfully distinguished face betrayed by the grey in his sandy hair. He appeared cool until his eyes focused on her. The sudden alteration in his physiognomy called to mind the comparison of a gourmand catching his first glimpse of the buffet table after a five-day fast. Lacey was relieved to note that despite this almost wolflike perusal, he held himself in check. Until she heard the continuation of his comments, which incensed her.
"You never told me you were... into young women," he was saying in their native language. He had apparently heard Lacey speaking English as they entered and assumed she could not speak German. Well, the joke was on him.
Hennemann's face shifted to bright purple with infuriation. "No, you swine," he growled in English. "This is my American niece, Lacey. I've told you about her before."
Lacey coughed down a chuckle. "I hope you'll forgive me, sir, but I simply don't speak a word of my uncle's native language." That stated, she slipped an unobtrusive wink to Hennemann. He got the hint.
"Yes, show some manners and use words that can be understood by everyone," he huffed.
Lacey's lips curved into a mild crescent. Perfect. Now no one would feel worried about disussing private matters in German while she was present. She could play "naive foreigner" all evening, as she had watched a non-American friend do back in the States. It was a very effective technique. Of course, there were other methods of finding the werewolves besides eavesdropping, but they were less effective and too conspicuous. There was no genteel way to meander around scratching behind the ears of guests to see if they thumped their legs.
The gentleman they'd been conversing with apologized in good turn. He was introduced to her as Herr Preiss. His appellation spurred another flash--she saw him in another scene; reaching out his hand to greet a different person. She shivered a bit as he delicately took her hand in his, but likely not for the reasons he presumed. She was only attentive to the mental film running. He was sitting in the chair by the fireside, speaking of genetic...
Lacey suddenly gave a light jerk, yanking her hand out of Preiss's. She'd been snapped from her daze as he kissed it, and now she gave him a surreptitious glare of mistrust. She could have sworn he'd tried to lick her! Weasel.
Hennemann's face turned an even more marvelous shade of purple, close to neon lavender.
Herr Preiss must have sensed that they weren't too happy with him, for he quickly launched into an invitation to join the others. Warily, Lacey and her uncle assented. Hennemann protectively placed himself between her and the other man as they began to follow him. Were he not family, she might have resented the gesture as condescending, but she knew his motives were altruistic. It was almost sweet of him.
The trio stepped into the crowds.