Wolf Hunted, стр. 37

As one, the camera crew straightened. Their shoulders squared. And they turned toward Ed’s vehicle as one unit of semi-belligerence.

The crew wasn’t acting oddly—anyone might be frightened by a police cruiser showing up at dawn—but the whole situation smelled too much like Saturday’s wedding episode.

Ed stepped away from his cruiser. “I’m still waiting to see that permit,” he boomed. He was in full authoritative police mode, complete with the frightening vocal inflection and the tense posture.

He must have had the same Saturday-morning thought.

The sound guy slapped at his pockets as if Ed’s question had triggered some deep-seated, hypnosis-implanted need to give himself a pat-down.

“No permit. No filming,” Ed said. “You need to shut down and leave. Now.”

“It’s public property!” the reporter-looking guy with the mic shouted.

They really were not acting like professionals.

Ed did not approach. He stood next to his cruiser, his hands poised at his hips, staring at the small knot of crew and equipment. “You still haven’t told me who you work for,” he called.

“We’re…” The reporter sniffed and suddenly composed himself. “We can shoot cutaways and establishing shots.”

The camera operator didn’t pause. Her camera whirred to life and she swung it toward Ed.

He didn’t respond, or act as if he’d noticed.

I opened my door. All three members of the crew frowned, but turned in unison to look at me.

“Why are you filming me?” I hollered.

The reporter looked as if he was about to stomp his foot. “Public property!” he yelled. “We’re here for the announcement.” He looked at his watch. “The cop doesn’t believe us.”

Ed looped his thumbs into his belt.

“Announcement?” I said. “What announcement?”

“I asked them the same thing,” Ed said.

The sound guy fiddled with his equipment. The camera operator swung between Ed and me. The reporter looked confused. “The Revitalization Plan,” he said. “The new community center. The clinic.”

“Someone’s been lying to you,” Ed called.

I walked toward the crew. “No one in Alfheim knows what you’re talking about, son,” I said.

His cheek twitched. “Not our problem.”

Headlights swept through the lot. Axlam pulled her sedan around and parked not far from Ed’s cruiser.

Ed motioned for me to get between her and the crew. If this was a fake-photographer situation, she might be vulnerable to the shadowy magic we’d picked up around anything the interloper touched.

Axlam Geroux stepped out of her vehicle. She straightened her neon blue jacket and conspicuously arranged her City Manager lanyard and identification. “Hello!” she called, then to me, “Frank, come,” and motioned for me to walk next to her.

“Did you get that?” the reporter said to the camera operator.

Axlam’s wolf magic streamed off her toward the crew, then back to her body, as if her wolf was assessing the three people in front of us.

She smiled one of her huge, disarming smiles, and offered her hand to the reporter. “Axlam Geroux, City Manager here in Alfheim.” She motioned to Ed. “Alfheim County Sheriff Eduardo Martinez.” Then she motioned to me. “Frank Victorsson.”

Her tone shifted when she said my name. Seemed I was to play the muscle. I clasped my arms behind my back and smiled at the crew.

The reporter looked shocked, but shook her hand. “We’re here to introduce to the world Mednidyne Pharmaceuticals’ new Rural Revitalization Initiative.”

The only surprise Axlam registered was in her wolf magic’s snarl. I saw it. Ed, of course, did not. I peered at the crew to see if any of them were picking up the new tension in Axlam’s magic.

They were all as clueless as Ed, who immediately pulled out his notebook.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful work,” Axlam said without missing a beat. “Truly exemplary.”

She had no idea what they were talking about. Neither did I. Neither did Ed, who continued to stare at the crew.

“Now,” Axlam stepped toward the reporter. “I am sure you realize that these things happen slowly. There are codes. State regulations. You understand.” She smiled yet again. “So there’s nothing to film here today.” She shrugged as if to say Sorry.

The reporter nodded knowingly. The camera operator continued to film. The sound guy now looked more confused than anything else.

“Please, before you leave,” Axlam continued as if their leaving had already been agreed upon, “make sure you come in. It’s early, and only a few staff members are here, but we’d love to sit down with you and your crew,” she motioned to the camera operator and the sound guy, “and set you up with a tour of the town. Maybe stop at Lara’s. What do you think, Ed? Lara’s a good place to start for local color?”

Ed grinned more like a wolf than any of the pack ever had. “Best coffee in Northern Minnesota,” he intoned. “Their food truck won at the Duluth Festival this year.”

“We’re a growing tourist destination,” Axlam said.

The smile she tossed the reporter was as lovely as the other smiles she’d tossed out so far. But I saw her magic, and her wolf reared up in a clear dominance stance.

The reporter looked genuinely confused. He might not see her magic, but mundanes often sensed something when standing so close to an alpha. “About the Mednidyne Initiative—”

Axlam put up her hands. “State and county regulations,” she said. “You know how it is.”

“What was that you said? Ned-nigh-dyne?” Ed asked. “Spell it.”

The camera operator gestured as if to say cut! The reporter frowned.

The sound guy’s confusion erupted as a nervous tapping along the edge of his recorder. “I don’t think he got a permit, Scotty,” he said.

Axlam leaned forward. “He did not. But that’s not your fault! Come inside. It’s chilly. We’ll get you all some coffee. You can tell us what your boss told you, and we’ll get this all straightened out.”

A barely distinguishable grin appeared on Ed’s face. He put away his notebook.

Axlam shepherded the reporter toward the buildings. “Do you know about the resorts north of town?”

The reporter and the sound guy visibly calmed. The camera operator didn’t seem to care.

Ed nodded to me. “I’m