Chapter 3 : The First Suspect

Thomas Weller smelled of animals and fear.

He sat in the interrogation room, his hands clasped tightly on the metal table. A big man gone soft around the middle, with the permanently tired eyes of someone who worked nights. He''d been the zoo''s head keeper for fifteen years. Knew every animal, every enclosure, every shadow.

And right now, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Lucas watched him through the one-way glass. "He''s hiding something."

"Of course he is," Chase said from beside him. "Everyone hides something. The question is whether what he''s hiding is relevant to our case."

"Let''s find out."

Lucas entered the room, taking the chair opposite Thomas. Chase followed, leaning against the wall by the door, a silent observer.

"Thomas," Lucas said, keeping his voice neutral. "Thanks for coming in."

"Like I had a choice," Thomas muttered.

"You always have a choice. You can talk to us here, or we can do this downtown. Your call."

Thomas''s eyes flicked to the door, then back to Lucas. "I already told the other officers everything I know. I was doing my rounds. I didn''t see anything."

"That''s interesting," Lucas said, opening a folder. "Because according to the security logs, you signed off on your rounds at 11:30 PM. The murder happened between midnight and one AM. You should have been in the area."

"I was in the break room. Having coffee."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"No one to verify that?"

Thomas shifted in his seat. "It''s the middle of the night. Who would be there to verify?"

Lucas leaned forward. "Here''s the thing, Thomas. We have photos. Taken at 12:47 AM. From the north fence. They show something in the wolf enclosure. Something that shouldn''t be there."

Thomas''s face went pale. "Photos?"

"Clear ones. Of a... creature. Walking on two legs. With silver fur and golden eyes."

For a moment, Thomas just stared. Then he laughed, a harsh, nervous sound. "You''re joking. Right? This is some kind of test?"

"No test," Lucas said. "We also found claw marks. Deep ones. And silver hairs. And a pendant." He slid a photo of the pendant across the table. "Recognize this?"

Thomas looked at the photo. His breath caught. "Where did you find that?"

"At the scene. Near the body. It''s a Grant family crest. *Sanguis et Luna*. Blood and Moon."

Thomas''s hands began to shake. He tried to hide them under the table, but Lucas saw.

"You know something about the Grants," Lucas said. It wasn''t a question.

"I know they''re an old family. One of the founding families of Ravenwood. Rich. Powerful. The kind of people who own zoos and don''t visit them."

"The zoo is built on Grant land," Chase said from the wall, his voice quiet but carrying. "Two hundred years ago, it was the Grant estate. The wolf enclosure is where the old family cemetery used to be."

Thomas''s eyes widened. "How do you know that?"

"Old town records. Property maps. History leaves traces, Mr. Weller. Even when people try to bury it."

Lucas kept his eyes on Thomas. "What aren''t you telling us?"

"Nothing. I don''t know anything."

"Bullshit." Lucas slapped the table, making Thomas jump. "You''re scared. I can see it. You know what that thing in the photos is. And you know it has something to do with the Grants."

Thomas looked from Lucas to Chase and back again. His resolve was crumbling. Lucas could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, the way his eyes dropped to the table.

"There are stories," Thomas whispered. "Old stories. The kind keepers tell each other on night shifts to pass the time."

"What kind of stories?" Chase asked, moving to take the chair next to Lucas.

"About the land. About why the Grants sold it. They say... they say there was a curse. That something happened here. Something bad."

"Be specific," Lucas said.

Thomas took a deep breath. "The story goes that two hundred years ago, Jonathan Grant made a deal with... something. A spirit of the forest. For wealth, for power. But the deal had a price. Every generation, the family had to pay. In blood."

Chase''s eyes gleamed. "A classic Faustian bargain. But with a lycanthropic twist."

"Lycan-what?" Thomas asked.

"Werewolves," Lucas said flatly. "You''re talking about werewolves."

"I''m talking about what the old-timers say! They say that on the night of the thirteenth full moon, something walks the old Grant lands. Something that''s part man, part wolf. And it takes what it''s owed."

"And what is it owed?" Chase asked.

Thomas looked at the pendant photo again. "A heart. A perfect heart. From someone young, someone... pure. An offering."

Lucas felt a cold chill run down his spine. Emily Walsh. Twenty-three. An art student. Young. Pure.

An offering.

"Who else knows these stories?" Lucas asked.

"Just the old-timers. The ones who''ve been around forever. We don''t tell the new kids. They''d think we''re crazy."

"But you believe it," Chase said.

Thomas didn''t answer. He didn''t need to. The fear in his eyes was answer enough.

Lucas''s phone buzzed. Sarah Chen. He excused himself, stepping out into the hallway.

"Lucas, we found something on the pendant. Under a microscope. There''s an inscription. Tiny. Almost invisible to the naked eye."

"What does it say?"

"*Ad lunam duodecimam.* To the twelfth moon."

Lucas''s blood ran cold. "Anything else?"

"Traces of blood. Old. Very old. And... something else. A powder residue. Silver, I think. Like it''s been treated with something."

"Thanks, Sarah."

He hung up, his mind racing. To the twelfth moon. The twelfth moon of what? A cycle? A year?

He went back into the interrogation room. Thomas was sweating now, beads of moisture on his forehead.

"Thomas," Lucas said, sitting back down. "The pendant. It has an inscription. *Ad lunam duodecimam.* To the twelfth moon. What does that mean?"

Thomas''s eyes went wide. "No. No, that''s not possible."

"What''s not possible?"

"The twelfth moon... that''s the end of the cycle. The final payment. If that''s activated..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "You need to stop this. Now. Before it''s too late."

"Stop what?" Lucas demanded.

"The cycle! The offerings! Once it starts, it doesn''t stop until the twelfth moon. Eleven more. There will be eleven more deaths."

Lucas stared at him. "You''re saying there will be eleven more murders?"

"Not murders. Offerings. And they won''t be random. They''ll be specific. Perfect. Like the first one." Thomas was breathing heavily now, panic setting in. "You don''t understand. This isn''t a person you''re hunting. It''s a force. An ancient force. And it''s waking up."

Chase leaned forward. "How do we stop it?"

"You don''t. You can''t. The only one who can stop it is..." Thomas''s eyes locked on Lucas. "A Grant. A true Grant. Of the blood."

Lucas felt the room tilt. "What are you saying?"

"The pendant. It called to you, didn''t it? You felt it. A pull. A recognition."

Lucas remembered the moment he''d found it. The strange fascination. The sense of... belonging. As if the pendant had been waiting for him.

"You''re a Grant," Thomas said, his voice trembling. "The blood knows. The curse knows. And now it''s calling its due."

Suddenly, Thomas gasped. His hand went to his chest. His face contorted in pain.

"Thomas?" Lucas was on his feet. "What''s wrong?"

"Can''t... breathe..." Thomas clawed at his throat, his eyes bulging.

Lucas rushed to the door, yelling for help. "Medic! We need a medic!"

By the time help arrived, Thomas was on the floor, convulsing. Lucas knelt beside him, trying to keep him still.

Thomas''s eyes found his. His lips moved, forming words Lucas could barely hear.

"Twelfth... moon... coming... for... you..."

Then he went still.

The medics pushed Lucas aside, working on Thomas. But Lucas knew it was too late. He could see it in the way Thomas''s eyes had gone blank, the way his body had relaxed into that final, terrible stillness.

Chase pulled Lucas to his feet, guiding him out of the room. "Come on. There''s nothing more you can do here."

In the hallway, Lucas leaned against the wall, his heart pounding. "What the hell just happened?"

"Heart attack, most likely," Chase said. "Brought on by extreme stress. Or..."

"Or what?"

"Or something else. Something that doesn''t want us asking too many questions."

Lucas looked at him. "You think he was killed? Silenced?"

"I think," Chase said slowly, "that we''re dealing with forces that don''t play by our rules. And I think Thomas knew too much for someone''s comfort."

Donovan came down the hall, his face grim. "What happened?"

"Thomas Weller. Heart attack. He''s dead."

"Jesus." Donovan ran a hand over his face. "This case..."

"I need access to historical records," Lucas said. "Property records. Family histories. Everything on the Grants."

"Why?"

"Because Thomas said the only one who can stop this is a Grant. Of the blood." Lucas met Donovan''s eyes. "I''m a Grant."

Donovan stared at him. "You think..."

"I don''t know what I think. But I need to find out."

Donovan nodded slowly. "Alright. Use the archives. But keep it quiet. The last thing we need is the media getting wind of this."

---

The city archives were in the basement of the library, a musty, windowless room filled with filing cabinets and microfilm readers. Lucas spent the next three hours there, Chase beside him, digging through two centuries of Grant family history.

And what he found chilled him to the bone.

Property deeds showing the original Grant estate covering most of what was now central Ravenwood. Business records showing the family''s sudden rise to wealth in the early 1800s. And death records. So many death records.

Every generation, members of the Grant family died under mysterious circumstances. Always around the time of the full moon. Always young. Always... missing certain body parts.

"Hearts," Chase said, pointing to a coroner''s report from 1843. "Livers. Eyes. Always something different. But always removed with surgical precision."

"And always replaced with something," Lucas said, reading another report. "This one had the eyes replaced with silver coins. This one had the liver replaced with a bundle of herbs."

"Offerings," Chase murmured. "Each generation pays. In specific ways."

Lucas kept digging. And then he found it.

A family tree. Hand-drawn, fragile with age. The Grant lineage stretching back to Jonathan Grant, born 1765, died 1820.

And there, at the bottom, a branch he recognized.

His own.

His father, Michael Grant. His grandfather, Robert Grant. And going back, generation after generation, all the way to Jonathan.

But there was something else. Notes in the margin. In the same elegant handwriting as the family tree.

*The blood debt must be paid every twelfth generation. The twelfth moon of the twelfth generation calls for the final offering. The cycle completes or breaks forever.*

Lucas counted. From Jonathan Grant to himself.

Twelve generations.

He looked at Chase. "I''m the twelfth."

Chase''s eyes were serious. "And the twelfth moon is coming."

"But what does that mean? The final offering?"

"I don''t know. But I think we need to find out. And quickly."

They gathered the documents, making copies of everything. As they left the archives, Lucas felt the weight of history pressing down on him. Two hundred years of secrets. Two hundred years of death.

And now it was his turn.

---

That night, Lucas couldn''t sleep. He lay in his dark apartment, staring at the ceiling, Thomas''s last words echoing in his mind.

*Twelfth moon... coming for you...*

His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

*You''re asking the wrong questions, Detective Grant. The right question is: what are you willing to sacrifice to break the cycle?*

Lucas sat up, his heart pounding. He typed back: *Who is this?*

No answer.

He tried calling. The number was disconnected.

He got out of bed, pacing the apartment. The silence felt heavy, oppressive. As if something was watching. Waiting.

He went to the window, looking out at the night. The moon was a thin crescent now, barely visible. But in twenty-eight days, it would be full again.

The second moon of the cycle.

The second offering.

He thought of Emily Walsh. Of Thomas Weller. Of all the Grants who had come before him, bound by a curse they didn''t understand.

And he thought of the thing in the photos. The silver-furred creature with golden eyes. Was it a monster? Or was it something else? A victim, like him? Trapped in a cycle of blood and moon?

His phone buzzed again. Another text from the same disconnected number.

*The photographer is next. Then the psychologist. Then you. The order is set. The moon decides.*

Lucas''s blood ran cold. Marcus. Chase.

He called Marcus''s hotel room. No answer.

He called Chase. Straight to voicemail.

He grabbed his keys, his gun, and ran out the door.

The night swallowed him whole.