Bayou Blues

By Sierra Dean

When your sister has saved the world, you have a lot to live up to.

Genie McQueen thought she’d seen it all after helping her big sister Secret stop the Apocalypse. The dead walked, New York City burned, and things nearly went to hell in a hand basket. After it was all over, the world knew about vampires and werewolves, and Genie’s life would never be the same.

But now, three years later, someone doesn’t want werewolves or any supernatural creatures to live alongside humans. A new anti-werewolf church with a charismatic leader and a cult-like following has declared open season on Genie’s whole species. When a member of her pack is kidnapped, she decides it’s time to stop going with the flow and to step up and fight for her people.

Tagging along for the ride is a handsome troublemaker, Wilder Shaw, a pack outsider who just wants to save his brother, but will leave Genie’s head spinning in the process.

Equally troubling are the ghosts of her past she can’t quite shake, the nightmarish figures who haunt her even when she’s wide awake, and a dark magic inside her she hasn’t yet learned to tame.

Things are about to get messy in the bayou.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Apr 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781094440620

Sierra Dean

Sierra Dean is the kind of adult who forgot she was supposed to grow up. She spends most of her days making up stories, and most of her evenings watching baseball or playing video games. She lives in Winnipeg, Canada with two temperamental cats and one sweet tempered dog. When not building new worlds, she can be found making cupcakes and checking Twitter.

Book preview

Bayou Blues

Genie McQueen #1

Sierra Dean

BRYANT STREET PUBLISHING

Copyright

eBooks are not transferable.

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Bayou Blues

Copyright © 2015 by Ashley MacLennan

Edited by Sasha Knight

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This one is for all the Secret McQueen fans who wanted more.

And for everyone who will consider Genie their first and

favorite McQueen.

Thank you.

Chapter One

Hunt.

Hard earth sped by beneath my feet, but I barely felt it. The exhilaration of running made it seem as if I were flying, and there was nothing under me but wind and joy. The night air was alive with scents, and while the scenery blurred past me too fast to see, I was picking up the story of my environment with every inhale.

The pungent smell of algae, still warm from baking in the day’s sun, gave the air a dank, swampy odor, which made me feel like I was home. It also gave me a good indication of where the land ended and the water began.

There was nothing for me near the water’s edge. Most of the animals in the trees were fair game: small rodents, rabbits and other easy prey. Sometimes I’d find a real challenge and get to stalk a deer through the spongy bog. But where the moss and peat gave way to proper swamp and land became water, I was hesitant to get too close.

I was not the scariest thing out for blood during the full moon.

Once—and only once—I’d crossed paths with an alligator who mistook me for an easy meal. Werewolf versus alligator might sound like a kickass premise for a bad Syfy channel monster movie, but in my case it had been one of the worst nights of my life. If not for my heightened healing ability, I would still have some nasty scars to brag about.

But you should have seen the other guy.

That particular fight was not something I had any desire to repeat, no matter how badass the story made me sound. Just thinking about it made my heart beat a little faster. So, in spite of the water’s edge being an ideal place to catch easy prey unaware, it also put me at too great a risk. Instead I stuck to the trees, avoiding the swamp and the hiking trails as well. At this time of night the area was mostly clear of humans, but I didn’t like to take chances.

Boldness wasn’t my problem—I had it in spades these days—but I preferred to be smart rather than to tempt fate. Foolhardy was just another way to say stupid.

Leave it to me to still be a goody two-shoes while I was covered in fur. Some habits were hard to break no matter what form I took.

Hunt.

My wolf urged me forward, driving me on at a breakneck pace. I’d caught a whiff of rabbit, and now my singular mission was to sink my teeth into it. The frenzied patter of its heart sent out vibrations I could feel, singing a perfect ode to my hunger. Feed feed feed. My mouth watered, and I bared my teeth, though there wasn’t an animal in sight for me to menace. The wolf was desperate for the kill, and she and I were of one mind on the subject.

Once I’d learned to yield to the wolf within, I was able to turn off the magical part of my brain and simply be the wolf. Like most werewolves, I was thirteen when I first started shifting. The same age young hereditary witches came into their power, something most wolves didn’t have to consider. Unluckily for me, I’d inherited both gifts, leaving my magic and my wolf to collide in a disastrous and literally explosive way. That was how I came to spend my formative years getting to know the ins and outs of a swamp very well.

Now I was older, a little wiser, and definitely had a better handle on my magic.

I skidded to an abrupt stop, nails digging into the damp ground. Sniffing the air, I parsed the layers of scent, dismissing the bog water and night breeze until the only thing remaining was fear. Sweet, delicious fear. It smelled like dying flowers and fresh blood.

Movement low to the ground caught my attention, and I went rigid, ears upright, listening intently. There. I could practically feel the creature’s heartbeat in my mouth.

I crouched low, my whole body coiled like a spring as I moved closer inch by inch to where the nervous rabbit lay in wait, thinking it was hidden from me. One moment it was frozen, the next it bolted, and I went after it, pouncing before it had a chance to hide again. My teeth pierced its neck, and there was a brief glorious moment where I could taste every ounce of its fear, then it went limp.

The hunt was over.

I ate quickly, the flavor less satisfying now that the fear was gone, but the meat was delicious and reinvigorated me for the run back. Night was coming to an end, and when the sun rose, I didn’t want to be isolated in the middle of the swamp. My wolf might have a good natural sense of direction, but not all my supernatural abilities translated from my animal form to my human one. I set off running again, zigzagging my way through the woods, still avoiding the edge of the water. It felt good to burn off my energy, bringing myself back to nature and the place where I had been at home for so long.

The night sky was turning purple-blue as I found my way back to the abandoned military encampment of Fort Pike. Sometimes, when luck wasn’t on my side, I’d find party-happy teens or adventurous ghost hunters wandering the grounds. I didn’t like to encounter people when I was in my wolf form. Though my human mind still worked for the most part, I didn’t have the same inhibitions or morals holding me back as I did when I walked on two legs. If someone were to lash out at me or make me feel threatened, I wouldn’t hesitate to attack them. During the full moon my wolf ruled me, and while I might feel bad about it after the fact if I hurt someone, it wouldn’t stop me.

It was best, then, not to put myself at any risk of running into any people. Werewolves had a bad-enough reputation without the media painting us as thoughtless killers too. That would be a PR nightmare I wanted no part in.

My nails clicked against the stone floor, but they were the only sounds. Tonight I was alone. I stopped beside the neatly folded pile of clothes I’d abandoned before my run and lay on my belly, licking the blood from my paws. I could push myself to change early, but it would hurt more. If I waited another fifteen minutes until the sun was up, the transition would happen naturally, without too much discomfort.

I watched between the open arches as the horizon changed colors. It wouldn’t be long now.

Then I saw her.

My first reaction was surprise. I hadn’t heard anyone approaching, and humans made so much noise they were impossible to miss. She couldn’t have gotten this close without arousing my attention. Those thoughts vanished when I focused on what I was seeing.

She moved between the shadows as silent and slippery as a ghost, but ghosts didn’t have a smell. Whatever she was, she stank of charcoal and burnt skin. I got up and edged away, baring my teeth and growling. The implicit threat should have been enough to keep her at bay. Most sensible people don’t approach a huge wolf whose teeth were flashing.

It didn’t slow her down at all.

As she oozed out of the shadows, my snarl faltered, and a small whimper of confusion escaped me. She crept forward, her arms akimbo like a broken mannequin who was reassembled with all the wrong parts. Her head was tilted sideways at a painful angle, broken and mangled. Skin peeled away, baring flesh and bone in raw red-and-white patches.

She advanced on me, and I backed away, though my natural instinct resisted. I didn’t want anything to do with her, but I was stubborn to the core. Royal werewolf blood and a long history of lectures from my uncle Callum meant I never wanted to yield the upper hand to anyone, not even a walking immolation-monster, or whatever she was.

Behind the stink of charred skin was a reek of death and sulfur.

She wasn’t human.

That should have been obvious at first glance, what with the blackened skin and impossible bone structure, but I’d seen enough truly weird things in my life that I never took anything at face value. Her smell, however, was unmistakable. The sulfur scent was a hallmark of something dark and demonic.

Her mouth opened, wider than a human mouth could, and a horrible, screeching yowl emerged, croaking and grinding like rocks in a blender.

Then she was gone, blowing apart like smoke as the sun rose.

Moments later the shift took me and remade me, leaving me naked and panting on the brick, shivering from the too-recent memory of what I’d seen.

What the hell was she?

And why did I feel like I should know?

Chapter Two

As if my nocturnal encounter wasn’t enough, when I pulled up to my little rental house on Cambronne Street, a whole new nightmare was waiting for me.

Two news vans were parked on the front street and a half dozen reporters were already milling around the walkway. None were close enough to the door that I could call them out for trespassing, but they were definitely pushing their luck.

Grabbing the tray of coffee and a bag of palmier pastries I’d bought from La Madeleine bakery on the way home, I got out of the car. I was able to collect my gym bag out of the backseat before they set upon me like vultures.

Princess Eugenia, do you have any statements to make about the recent threats from the Church of Morning?

Huh?

I hiked the bag up on my shoulder, flaunting it as my reason for being out so early in the morning. Technically I had been working out. No one needed to know it had been in wolf form.

Princess, what would you like to say on behalf of your people?

Terry, you’re stepping on my marigolds again. I pointed to the small flowerbed alongside my driveway, which the beat reporter for the New Orleans Sun was stomping all over.

There’d been a time when these guys had really bothered me.

Things had changed a lot since my sister, Secret, and I had helped stop a group of necromancers while under the watchful eye of the world. Humans knew we were real now, and being a werewolf princess meant I didn’t get to escape the glare of the media’s attention. My involvement in saving New York from the brink of complete annihilation had made me something of an overnight celebrity.

So much for any attempt at a nice, normal life.

I’d been a popular target for reporters right after the truth came out. But that had been almost three years ago. Since journalists tended to have the attention span of a fruit fly, they’d stopped coming around nearly as much.

So what brought them out today?

And what was this church nonsense they were talking about?

I wasn’t sure what they called a group of reporters, but I liked to think of them as an annoyance. The annoyance of reporters followed me towards my front door, nattering their questions with no regard for my answers.

My boyfriend, Cash, opened the door for me, and I hurried inside while they continued to shout over one another. Once I was in, he closed the door and relieved me of the pastries and hot coffees in my hands. I let my gym bag drop to the floor, and he regarded it, frowning slightly before he stepped into the kitchen.

You know, I would have come with you if you asked. You didn’t need to sneak out while I was sleeping, he called from the other room.

My phone beeped in my pocket, but I ignored it.

Cash returned with my takeout coffee in a mug. Before he handed it to me he stooped down and gave me a kiss, long, lingering, his breath sweet and minty.

Good morning to you too, I said, my voice airy. He’d seemed a bit annoyed about me being out, so the kiss was a nice surprise.

I don’t like you being out there by yourself, Genie. I worry about what could happen to you.

I took the coffee from him and pushed my bag under the hall table with my toe, as if the argument would stop as long as he couldn’t see the evidence.

I’m fine. I promise you, I can care of myself when I’m out there. I touched his cheek, his brown skin warm under my palm and his goatee tickling me. I wasn’t in love with the facial hair, but if anyone could pull it off, it was Cash.

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that showed his brilliant white teeth, and I relaxed a little.

Things had gotten tense this year. Cash, now in his third year of law school, had become obsessed with his Supernatural Law professor, and his intense interest in Supe Law meant he suddenly thought he was an expert. I had to scold him whenever he tried to educate me on how things worked with the werewolves.

My uncle was King of the South. I knew more about werewolf ceremony and custom than any of the so-called experts they had brought in to teach classes combined.

Looking over my course catalogue during the summer, I’d been stunned by how many new classes were being added to appeal to student interest in the paranormal. Supernatural Biology; Anthropology of Humanoid Supernaturals—because apparently we didn’t qualify as people anymore; Dracula in Context; and my personal favorite: Lupine Sociology—How Werewolf Society Works.

As if they could possibly know. Unless a were was teaching the class, they’d be basing it on a lot of conjecture and a few hastily written books on the topic. Shapeshifters, wolf or otherwise, weren’t too keen on sharing the inner workings of our society with others.

But Cash kept insisting he knew more about the paranormal than I did, simply because he was studying the laws. Over the past couple months it had developed into a sore subject between us.

Which was why I wasn’t too keen on the idea of him tagging along for my runs. He wouldn’t be in any danger from me, but I worried he wouldn’t be able to look at me the same if he saw me in my wolf form.

I think he sometimes liked the idea of dating a werewolf more than he liked the reality.

How long have the vultures been out front? I sipped my coffee and looked out the front window. Goddamn Terry Masterson is standing in my lilac bushes now. I tapped on the glass, wagging my finger at the middle aged man.

They were already here when I got up.

I heard the unspoken alone at the end of his sentence. I moved from the window to him, raising on my tiptoes to kiss him, balling his shirt up in my hand to keep him drawn close to me. Cash kissed the way I imagined romance novel heroes kissed, all quiet intensity I could feel right down to my toes.

I used to like reading romance, but since the supernatural community had gone public, it seemed like every author wanted to write about a werewolf hero.

I knew too many werewolves to think they were suitable fodder for romance novels.

When I pulled back from the kiss, he looked sated, less inclined to ask me about my run. And I felt more relaxed than I had since leaving the park. I was still a bundle of nerves about the terrifying woman I’d seen, but less so than before. I was glad he had stayed here instead of going to his apartment when he found me gone in the morning.

They were asking me about a church or something. Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?

Cash shook his head and wandered back into the kitchen to get our breakfast pastries. After a long run and the exertion of shifting, I’d probably eat a half dozen eggs once he was gone, but I didn’t think any human needed to see the eating habits of an adult werewolf.

My phone started to ring, the giddy sound of Uptown Funk brightening my morning ever so slightly. When I pulled my cell out, I noticed two missed call and several texts I must not have seen while I was driving.

Hello?

Oh thank God. The voice was female and familiar, but it took me a minute to register who it belonged to.

Amelia? Uncle Callum’s second-in-command. Amelia was an older woman, and until this moment I’d thought she was unflappable. Except now she sounded like she was in a state of panic, which didn’t bode well at all. I felt my blood go cold and asked, Is it Ben? What happened? The only reason I could imagine Amelia calling me in such a tizzy was if my twin brother had gotten into a scrape or was in serious trouble.

But Ben was the levelheaded twin. He was the one who always did the right thing, who followed the rules and bent over backwards to prove to Callum he was the natural choice to step up as pack king. As far as I was concerned there was no contest. I had no real interest in becoming the Queen of the South. Nothing could sound drier or more tedious to me than dealing with pack politics all day every day.

If only I knew what I wanted to do instead.

When your sister has already saved the world, you have an awful lot to live up to.

"Ben? No, honey, Ben’s fine. Are you okay?"

I let out a sigh of relief to know my twin wasn’t in danger. Of course I’m okay. I glanced out the window as I kicked off my runners. Does this have something to do with the reporters standing on my lawn?

Haven’t you seen the news?

After wandering into the living room with my coffee in one hand and my phone wedged between my ear and shoulder, I plopped onto the couch and turned on my TV. Cash returned with the fresh palmiers on a plate and sat next to me.

I mouthed the word Amelia to him. We’d been together long enough he knew all the important people in my pack life, even if he hadn’t met any of them. He placed a comforting hand on my thigh, giving me a squeeze of encouragement. Of all the people from the pack I talked with, Amelia was the one who often brought out the worst in me.

I flipped through channels until I found CNN, and I knew right away why Amelia was so worried.

A pretty blonde news anchor was posing in a serious way while a brunette woman with a smart, polished bob glowered back at her. I pulled out one earbud to better hear the TV.

—don’t think you realize how dangerous these creatures are.

Are you claiming the werewolf community has done something to validate the threats they’re receiving?

Community. The brunette made a noise of disgust. "We can’t talk about them like they’re people. These are monsters, plain and simple, and my group won’t stand to see them in schools, in churches, in our safe spaces."

Cash’s hand went still, and I sucked in a breath. Maureen Cranston. I knew her shrewish, hateful face. She was the leader of the Coalition for a Pure America. Somehow they’d managed to make overt racism popular again, because it was okay to openly hate a werewolf.

I chewed on my fingernail until I remembered Amelia was still on the phone. What’s this bitch up to now? I spat.

Amelia sighed, and I realized my faux pas right away. Bitch. The word held a lot more weight to werewolves and wasn’t meant to be used flippantly. In fairness to me, Maureen was trying to ruin the lives of everyone I held near and dear.

The split screen changed three ways, and the familiar face of Tyler Nowakowski appeared. He was handsome in a generic way, with dark brown hair and thick, expressive eyebrows. His lean face looked more tan than usual, and I wondered what their team had been up to.

Tyler, along with his partner Emilio La Roy, were the two other parts of the special FBI unit Secret worked with to promote understanding and harmony between humans and supernaturals. They were considered the experts, so they tended to get a lot of screen time when issues like this popped up. Tyler and Emilio did, that is. Secret didn’t make the best impression with the media and had been pulled from interview duty indefinitely.

She’d called Piers Morgan a douchebag during a live broadcast.

Tyler, better trained to deal with insufferable d-bags, replied with a smooth, calm tone. What Ms. Cranston fails to realize is these threats are far more serious than just words. We cannot allow this kind of aggression to persist against fellow citizens.

"If CAPA has their way, they won’t be citizens much longer," Maureen bit back.

Tyler was struggling to maintain his cool, governmental expression. G-men couldn’t be seen as aggressive or feeling in any way. Yet another reason my hotheaded sister wasn’t the poster child for the FBI.

Emilio tended to be the best of all of them when it came to being unflappable. I swear he was part robot, programmed by the government to be the perfect fed.

Ms. Cranston, prejudice isn’t a valid reason to rewrite the Constitution of the United States. You can’t simply recall the citizenship of Americans because you don’t approve of their race.

"Are you calling me a racist?" Maureen snapped.

Oh, Jesus, is she serious? Cash got up, scrubbing his hand over his face before giving the TV the finger. He and I rarely discussed the racism issue, but I knew he was frustrated about the word being used in reference to white, upper-class businessmen like my uncle.

Cash was a black kid from Louisiana. Until three years ago, he knew more about racism than anyone else in the country. Now his white girlfriend had to deal with more off-color, cruel remarks and media attention than he did. I wasn’t sure if he was annoyed on my behalf or angry because my people were now the center of a hatred whirlwind. It wasn’t the kind of conversation that would end well, so we avoided the topic altogether. But things like this made it difficult, and the tension hanging in the air was so thick I could almost taste it.

Does CAPA support the threats of the Church of Morning? Tyler sneered at the name of the church.

On the bottom of the screen the news bar declared Church of Morning promotes violence against shapeshifters. What did that mean? The Church was a bunch of anti-werewolf fanatics, but they were more annoying than threatening. I’d never paid much attention to them in