Moonlit Case Files : The Exiled Wolf

Chapter 2 : Summonings

Samira woke to sunlight and the smell of burning toast.

For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then the smoke intensified, followed by a string of creative curses from the kitchen, and everything came rushing back.

Hollow Creek. Apartment 3B. Robin.

She sat up.

The nightstand was clean. No burn mark. No scar. But when she touched the wood, it was still warm.

She knew what it meant. She'd known the moment she saw it.

"Samira!" Robin's voice carried through the thin walls. "I made breakfast! Well, I made toast. Some of it is edible. Some of it is... a learning experience."

Samira pulled on a hoodie and padded into the kitchen. Robin stood at the stove, holding a spatula like a weapon. Two slices of toast sat on a plate—one golden brown, one charcoal black.

"Good morning," Robin said brightly. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine," Samira lied. "Weird dreams."

"Same. I dreamed I was a penguin. It was liberating." Robin gestured at the plate. "The good one is for you."

Samira took the edible toast. "Thanks."

They ate in comfortable silence. Samira nodded along to Robin's chatter, but her mind was elsewhere.

The pattern on the nightstand. The warmth. The symbol.

Someone needed her.

---

The Witching Hour was quiet when Samira walked in.

Maeve stood behind the counter, polishing a mug that was already clean. She looked up when Samira entered. Smiled.

"Morning. Coffee?"

"Please."

Maeve poured. Black, two sugars. Exactly how Samira liked it.

She set the cup down and leaned on the counter. Her voice dropped low enough that the other customers wouldn't hear.

"The moon is bright tonight," Maeve said quietly. "But the shadows are brighter."

Samira's hand froze halfway to the cup.

That's the phrase. Auntie Jo's phrase.

She kept her face neutral. "That's a nice saying. Where'd you hear it?"

"From a friend of mine." Maeve's smile softened. "She said if you ever came in, I should say it. She also said you wouldn't trust me until I did."

Samira stared at her. Auntie Jo. The woman who'd patched her up after her first vampire fight. Who'd taught her how to lie to her parents.

"You're Jo's friend."

" Very close friend." Maeve smiled. "She called me when you moved here. Said you might need a friend."

"I don't need—"

"Everyone needs someone." Maeve picked up another mug. "You're human. You run with monsters. You think you're invincible. You're not."

Samira took a sip of coffee. It was perfect. She hated that.

"So you're my new handler."

"I prefer 'friend with connections.'" Maeve set the mug down. "I hear things. When someone needs help, they come to me. If the case is worth your time, I send you a message."

"The burn mark."

"Subtle, isn't it?"

"Very." Samira set the cup down. "So who is it?"

"A witch named Tessa Morrow. Her daughter is missing."

"Missing how?"

"Three nights ago. Lily, nineteen. Left a friend's house in the human part of town and never came home." Maeve paused. "Police think she's a runaway. Tessa doesn't."

"She went to the pack first," Maeve continued. "They said they'd look into it. They didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because Tessa's nobody. A hedge witch. Unaffiliated." Maeve's jaw tightened. "The pack doesn't help outsiders."

Samira glanced at the bulletin board near the door. A flyer with a crescent moon and a single eye. SEEKING HELP. WILL PAY. DISCREET.

"That hers?"

"That's hers. She's waiting. Old bridge, noon." Maeve slid an envelope across the counter. "Everything she gave me."

Samira picked it up. It was heavier than it looked.

"And if I don't take it?"

"Then someone else will. Or no one will." Maeve picked up another mug. "But I don't think you'll say no."

"Why not?"

"Because you're Jo's girl. And Jo doesn't train quitters." Maeve's eyes met hers. "Be careful, Samira. The pack doesn't like outsiders."

Samira tucked the envelope into her jacket. "What do you know about the pack?"

"They're old. Powerful. Alpha is a man named Silas Kane. Stays out of human business." Maeve paused. "But there's been tension lately. Something's brewing. I don't know what, but I can feel it."

"Can you be more specific?"

"I wish I could."

Samira stood. "I'll be fine."

"That's what they all say."

Samira paused at the door. "Hey, Maeve? Thanks. For the phrase. For... all of it."

Maeve smiled. "That's what family's for."

---

The old bridge was exactly what it sounded like.

A narrow stone crossing over a creek that ran along the edge of town. On one side, houses and streets. On the other, trees. Thick, dark, unbroken.

Samira parked her beat-up Honda and walked to the middle of the bridge.

Tessa Morrow was already there. Smaller than Samira expected. Late forties. Worn. Dark circles under her eyes. Hands that shook slightly, clutching a leather bag.

"You're the detective," Tessa said. Not a question.

"I'm Samira. Maeve sent me."

Tessa nodded. Swallowed. "I didn't know who else to ask."

"That's okay. Tell me about Lily."

Tessa reached into her bag and pulled out a photo. A girl, nineteen, dark hair, bright eyes. Silver locket around her neck.

"She's a good girl. Quiet. Doesn't get into trouble." Tessa's voice cracked. "She wouldn't run away. Not without telling me."

"When did you last see her?"

"Three nights ago. She said she was going to a friend's house. She never came home." Tessa's hands tightened on the bag. "The police think she's a runaway. They said girls her age do this. That I'm being hysterical."

"Are you?"

Tessa looked up. Her eyes were red, but her gaze was steady. "No. I know my daughter. Something is wrong."

Samira glanced at the photo again. "Was she seeing anyone?"

A pause. "Yes. Someone from the pack. She wouldn't tell me who."

"The pack?"

"I went to them when she didn't come home. They said they'd look into it." Tessa's jaw tightened. "They didn't. No one has seen anything. No one cares. She's just a witch. Unaffiliated. I'm nobody to them."

Samira was quiet for a moment. Then she held out her hand. "I'll find her, Tessa. I can't promise she's okay, but I'll find her."

Tessa clutched her hand like it was the only solid thing in the world. "Thank you."

She reached into her bag again and pulled out a small notebook. "This is Lily's. The last page... I don't know what it means."

Samira opened it.

"If I'm not back by the full moon, tell Mom I'm sorry."

The words were written in neat, careful handwriting. The kind you used when your hands were trembling.

Samira looked up. "The full moon?"

"Tomorrow."

Samira's blood ran cold.

---

The college campus was buzzing when Samira arrived.

She found the lecture hall. Took a seat in the back. Stared at the board without seeing it.

Her phone buzzed. Robin: How's your first day? Did you make any friends? If not, I'll be your friend. But only because I feel bad for you.

Samira typed back: Gee, thanks.

She put the phone away. Tried to focus.

It didn't work.

Tomorrow. The full moon.

Lily's note wasn't a goodbye. It was a warning.

She skipped her next class.

---

Samira didn't go home.

She drove to the edge of town. Parked on a side street. Walked the rest of the way on foot.

The old bridge was quiet now. No Tessa. No witnesses. Just the creek and the trees and the fading afternoon light.

She stepped off the bridge and onto the dirt path that led into the woods.

She wasn't supposed to be here. The pack owned this land. But she needed answers.

She followed the path for twenty minutes. The trees grew thicker. The light dimmed. The air grew cold.

Then she saw it. A scrap of red fabric. Caught on a branch.

Samira crouched. Examined it. The same red as the boots Lily had been wearing in the photo.

She pulled a plastic bag from her jacket and carefully placed the fabric inside.

Fifty feet later, she found the footprint. Small. Boot-shaped. Half-hidden in the mud.

Lily's.

She followed the trail deeper. The trees grew closer together. The shadows stretched.

And then she felt it.

Magic. Not the clean, warm magic of a hedge witch. This was different. Twisted. Wrong.

VIt felt like oil on water. Like a song played in the wrong key.

She followed the feeling.

She found the tree. Massive. Old. Its trunk was scarred with claw marks—deep, jagged, weeks old. The kind that weren't made by any normal animal.

Around the base, the ground was disturbed. Something had been buried here. Or hidden.

And in the air, a faint glow. A ward.

Someone had cast a spell to hide something.

Samira reached out. Touched the edge of the ward.

It crackled. Pushed back. Then shattered.

The glow faded. The air cleared.

She gathered what evidence she could and got back to her car.

---

That night, Samira sat at her desk.

The corkboard was up. A map of Hollow Creek. Photos. Notes. Red string.

At the center: Lily's photo. The notebook page. The old bridge.

Around it: the red fabric in a plastic bag. The photo of the claw marks. Her notes on the twisted magic.

A knock at her door.

Samira covered the board with a scarf and opened it. Robin stood in the hallway, holding two cups of tea.

"Hey," Robin said. "You looked stressed. I made tea. It's probably terrible, but I tried."

Samira took the cup. "Thanks."

They sat on the floor. Robin didn't ask questions. Just... stayed.

After a while, Samira said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"If you knew something was wrong—really wrong—but you couldn't prove it... would you still try to fix it?"

Robin considered. "Depends. Would it get me killed?"

"Maybe."

Robin shrugged. "Then yes. But I'd want backup."

Samira looked at her. "You're kind of a lunatic."

"I prefer 'daringly optimistic.'" Robin nudged her. "You don't have to tell me what's going on. But I'm here. Always."

Samira almost told her. Almost.

Instead: "Thanks."

Robin smiled. "Get some sleep. Whatever it is, it'll look better in the morning."

She left.

Samira looked at the scarf-covered board. At the questions waiting for answers.

Hopefully.