“Uncle Amos.” Radcliff awkwardly cleared his throat. “Maybe we should let their Alpha tell them?”
“And miss out on the fun? Nonsense. Besides.” He turned around and studied me. “Their reactions may prove useful for the investigation.”
I kept my welcome center smile in place. “I understand what’s going on!” I set my hand over my heart. “You need our help! Technically we’re not supposed to get involved in the investigation, but if it’s giving you so much trouble I’m sure someone from the Pack could offer assistance,” I chirped.
Amos gave me a disgusted look. “You’re a sellout.”
I gave him my best mournful look. “Don’t worry, everyone needs help. It doesn’t make you completely incompetent.”
I thought I’d successfully irritated him into leaving, but he circled back around to smirk at Aeric and Wyatt, his eyes flicking to Forrest and Young Jack who’d given up on their game entirely and were watching him instead.
“Before they were exterminated in war, the elves were the terrors of the world,” Amos said. “They were merciless—but their intelligence and abilities are simply unmatched in today’s age.” He sighed and shook his head as if he was sad for the loss of the race that literally all supernaturals had banded up against to defeat.
Elves had been the apex predator of supernaturals. But they weren’t content with that—they intended to wage war on humanity, and were convinced they’d win and could enslave them.
All other supernaturals banded together for the first—and only—time in history to defeat them. Since then we’d perpetuated the beautiful myth to the humans that the elves had “died out” centuries ago when we went public, rather than reveal to them that the supernaturals were a great deal more deadly than they could imagine.
“We all know the truth of the elves,” Wyatt said. “If that’s your big reveal, I question your ability to lead this investigation.”
Amos ignored him and clasped his hands behind his back, looking more gleeful by the moment—which was starting to stir my gut in apprehension.
“Masters of magic, the elves had a great number of special magics that we still can’t recreate—spells and artifacts that were lost to time. Among them is a long forgotten potion…wolfsbane.”
Aeric and Wyatt froze, but Remy and Forrest—younger and less experienced, squinted in their ignorance.
Remy frowned. “Isn’t that just a plant?”
Amos opened his mouth, but I rushed to answer before him—because he’d explain it in the cruelest way possible.
“It’s a potion only the elves could ever brew. It takes away a shifter’s humanity—not just werewolves, any shifter—leaving them with animal instincts and trapped in their animal shapes,” I said.
“Ding, ding, ding!” Amos brandished a finger at me. “What your little pet hunter didn’t say, is that they used it on shifters to destroy Packs and ruin their leadership…and to keep shifters as tame animals around their homes.”
I gritted my teeth and glanced at the werewolves, trying to judge their reactions.
“They what?” Forrest left the pickleball court and strode over to our circle.
Amos chuckled. “That’s right, they used to make you into over-glorified pets!”
Amelia gasped and covered her mouth while Young Jack lunged forward to grab Teresa—who was shaking her head in denial.
Forrest shivered with anger. He took a step toward Amos, but Wyatt grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back.
It was a truth, one that showed just how twisted the elves had been near the end. But for the werewolves—who value the open air and running through the woods with absolute freedom—it was devastating.
Remy turned to Wyatt—who was still gripping Forrest’s shoulder—and Aeric. “That can’t be real,” she argued. “Magic like that couldn’t exist!”
Wyatt and Aeric stared straight at Amos, their expressions unflinching.
Desperate, Remy, Young Jack, and Amelia turned to me.
“He’s lying, isn’t he, Pip?” Amelia asked.
I stared Amos down. “Wolfsbane is real. We hunters are trained to recognize it—in case it ever popped up again. But it won’t. Wolfsbane died with the elves,” I said. “They never shared the recipe with the fae, and even if they had, it can only be made with elf magic.”
“Perhaps.” Amos scuffed his boots in the grass. “But occasionally someone unearths a vial or two, and wolves start turning up feral. That’s what happened to the poor Low Marsh wolf.”