Witch for Hire by N. E. Conneely

a month. She shifted into a peahen.  
    "Same as always. Nothing crazy good or bad. Have you guys heard about the werewolves?" Tiffany shook her head.  
    I answered because I wanted to know more. "I heard they were having trouble."  
    "Oh, yeah. They have problems. Everyone likes the current alpha, Simon, but his son, Adder, has been moving up and no one likes him. A few people think he's cool, but mostly he's strange. I mean really strange. Adder is bloodthirsty, violent, bad-tempered, and hell on four legs in a fight. The pack is worried that he's going to make a bid for alpha and kill his father. No one in the pack can take him out without challenging him, but they know they can't beat him in a fight." Amber paused for the arrival of the food.  
    We traded around bits of appetizers and gossip. "The other shifter's can take him out if he hurts someone outside of the pack. Until then, we should hope for his untimely demise." I wouldn't hold my breath. Shifters were hard to kill.  
    "Right. I'm hoping some third party, not bound by our rules, will fix this, but I doubt it. I'm worried. He's a bad one." The last crazy werewolf had killed fifteen people, and injured dozens, before the police arrested him. I had a bad feeling Adder was headed down that path, and the police would want me to be on the front line.

Chapter Six

    Michelle
    "Dang it, mom, pick up your phone," I complained before the phone was tossed on the passenger seat. She hadn't answered last night or the three times I'd called this morning. I didn't usually show up at her house without warning, but I couldn't warn her if she didn't answer. Now, I was worried about her.  
    Rolling to a stop next to mom's car I tried to figure out why Mr. Richards' car was here. If it wasn't his car, I really wanted to meet the other person who had a "Clans and Spam: bad for the health" bumper sticker on an original VW Bug.  
    I walked up the steps of the brick house and mashed the doorbell. Nothing happened. I punched the little button a few times, and heard the annoying chime. Someone shuffled around inside, but the door wasn't answered. Exasperated, I banged on it. "Mom, let me in. I've been calling all day, this is silly."  
    Mom cracked open the door, blocking me from entering. "Michelle, I didn't know you were coming."
    "You should have. I think I've called ten times." I pushed past her.
    "That was you? I thought it was a wrong number." She reluctantly pushed the door closed behind me.  
    "It was me, Mom. Why didn't you answer?" Odd, her shirt and pants didn't match and she wasn't wearing any make up. Not that she needed any, but she liked to accent her auburn hair with a touch of green eyes hadow.  
    "I was busy."
    "Busy with what? Is Mr. Richards here?" Mom and I might not always agree, but things were usually smoother.
    "Just busy. No, why would you think that?"
    I pointed out the window. "Because that's his car."  
    She blinked. "No, it isn't. His was . . . newer."  
    I snorted. "Last time he was here it was newer, but that's been years. Now, it's even older. I need to talk to him. If he isn't here, can I have his number?"
    "No," Mom paused, eyes darting back and forth, "he's dead. I'm sorry, I thought you knew, but he died six months ago."  
    "Remarkable." It was silly to think that he had died, and Mom hadn't told me. He'd been the picture of health last time I'd seen him, and mom was being weird. "So, if that's not his car, and he's not here, who is here?"
    Her face fell and her eyes darted to the kitchen and back. "Let's go get some tea."  
    "Alright." This wasn't normal behavior for Mom.
    She paused at the counter, and tilted her head like she was talking to someone telepathically. I heard footsteps in the hall before she turned to address me. "Michelle, I'd like you to meet—"
    "Me, Greg Nelson." Greg looked to be the same age as my mother, which was more of a phase than an age. For a larger portion of their adult life witches had an ageless quality.