Curse the Luck (Calypso Violante Chronicles Book 1) by Elle Thorne & Katie Zuniga

Author:Elle Thorne & Katie Zuniga [Thorne, Elle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Barbed Borders Press
Published: 2022-12-23T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Fifteen

After picking up some Chinese food from the local shop a couple of doors down from my building, I parked myself at the small desk tucked into the corner of my living room and got to work.

Nate had called me several times, and eventually, I turned my phone off. I was done dealing with his shit. I had my own problems to focus on, and that’s what I planned on doing the rest of the damned day.

As I used my chopsticks to pick away at a carton of fried rice, I read the article on my laptop’s screen. Unlike a lot of the random blog postings I’d already scrolled through, this piece was from an actual academic journal on the supernatural sciences.

The writer, a Dr. Milton Howard, wrote an informative piece on therianthropy and some theories on what activates the change. He posited that anger or extreme emotion triggered the onset of the shift, which made sense. That’s how it hit me during the fight with the nightwalker. And when Nate had started yelling at me. I hadn’t been able to escape the first situation, but with Nate, leaving had been enough to calm the beast down.

I kept reading. Once I was finished with the article, I did a little digging on Dr. Howard himself. He was a man who looked to be in his mid to late fifties, had salt and pepper colored hair, was very clean-cut, and just had the look of an academic about him. His dark eyes seemed soulful and deep, even on a computer screen, and he had a neatly trimmed goatee that was dark and speckled with gray.

Everything I’d read about him suggested Howard was a well-respected specialist in the supernatural sciences, the leading voice by most accounts, and was based at Stanford out in California. A quick glance at my watch showed it wasn’t that late out on the west coast, so with a little more searching, I was able to find some contact information for him. I chewed on the end of the chopsticks as I pondered whether I should make the call or not.

“Screw it. I need answers.”

I grabbed my cellphone and punched in the number the Stanford faculty directory had for Dr. Howard. He picked up on the second ring.

“Dr. Howard,” he said.

I cleared my throat, and my mind went blank. I stared at the computer screen for a moment, looking at it as if it held the answers. It didn’t. It was then I realized that I was anxious about admitting to what I’d become—admitting to the fact that I was no longer me in a way. The only way to get the answers I wanted was to have the strength to ask the questions.

“Hello?” Dr. Howard asked.

I cleared my throat again. “Yes, Dr. Howard?”

“Yes, that’s me,” he replied. “To whom am I speaking?”

“My name is Calypso Violante. Special Agent Calypso Violante,” I said, hoping my title would give me a little credibility with him. “I’m with the FBSA New York field office.

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