Crescent Moon - By Lori Handeland Page 0,2

prove Simon hadn't been crazy.

"I can do that," I agreed.

"You do realize this isn't just a wolf ?"

I hoped not, but my hopes weren't often realized.

"They call it a loup-garou," Tallient continued. "That's French for - "

"Werewolf."

The rush of adrenaline made me dizzy. Though I took jobs searching for any paranormal entity - beggars couldn't be choosers - the true focus of my quest should have been a lycanthrope. As Simon's had been.

The only problem was, I just couldn't believe. Even though my maiden name was O'Malley and my father's family hailed from the land of leprechauns and fairies, in

Boston, where I grew up, the only fanciful thing was the city's rabid belief in a curse on the BoSox.

In my youth there'd been no nonsense allowed - no Santa, no tooth fairy - I had to fight to read fiction. Which might explain why I fell so in love with a man who dreamed of magic.

I glanced around our apartment near the campus of the University of Chicago. I hadn't moved a book, hadn't given away his clothes, hadn't realized until just this moment how pathetic that was.

'I find it strange," Tallient continued, "that odd things happen under a crescent moon in the Crescent City, don't you?"

I found it more than strange. I found it irresistible.

"Are you interested?"

Why did he bother to ask? He had to have heard how Simon had died. He had to know Dr. Malone's sterling reputation had wound up in tatters. Tallient might not be aware that I'd vowed to make everyone who'd scorned Simon eat their words, but he had to suspect it considering what I'd been doing in the four years since my husband had died.

My gaze fell on the only picture I had of Simon - knee-deep in a Canadian lake, sum, scholarly, blond, and brilliant - his grin still made me yearn. My stomach flopped as it did every time I remembered he was gone forever. But his hopes, his dreams, his work, lived on in me.

"I'll be on a plane in the morning."
Chapter 2

Tallient promised there'd be an airline ticket and a check waiting at O'Hare. He was as good as his word.

In the meantime, I looked him up on the Internet and remembered why his name was familiar. He wasn't Bill Gates, but he was close.

Tallient had invented a widget for computer modems and become a gazillionaire. At least he could afford me.

After an accident several years ago had turned him into a recluse, he'd become fascinated with cryptozoology. Interestingly enough, details on his accident were nonexistent, leaving me to wonder if Tallient had used his tech skills to ensure a little privacy. I couldn't blame him.

Heat slapped me in the face as soon as I walked out of Louis Armstrong International Airport Mid-October and the temperature had to be in the midnineties. No wonder the wolves had long ago fled New Orleans.

Along with the plane ticket and the check, Frank, as he'd insisted I call him, had provided a rental car, a hotel room on Bourbon Street, and the name and address of a swamp guide.

"I could get used to this," I said as the agent handed me the keys to a Lexus.

Shortly thereafter I checked into the hotel and tossed my bag on the bed. I'd have the luxury of running water and sheets only until I found a base of operations. I couldn't look for a cryptid from town. I needed to be right where the action was at all hours of the day or night. Once I found such a place, I'd have my camping equipment shipped south.

I wandered to a set of French doors, which led to a patio. Under the heated sheen of the sun, the rot showed - sidewalks cracking, buildings crumbling, homeless people begging coins from the tourists.

One of the bizarre things about Bourbon Street, and there were a lot of them, was how a very nice hotel, like this one, could have a view straight into a strip joint on the opposite side of the street.

Two women danced on top of the bar. When they began to do more than dance, and the milling crowd began to cheer, I turned away from the spectacle. I wasn't a prude, but I preferred my sex in private and in the dark.

Or I had back when I'd had sex. Since Simon, there'd been no one, and I hadn't cared, had barely noticed. But : alone in a hotel room on a street