Blood Moon by Jackie French

it…Dusty’s young for it. Good thing he isn’t breeding, he’d pass the tendency on.’
    ‘So,’ I said slowly. ‘It can’t have been Dusty.’
    ‘Not if he didn’t want to be crippled the next day,’ said Emerald. She stood, and peered into the oven, then closed it again. The fragrance of baking had already covered up the scent of dog. ‘And one of us would have noticed that.’
    She turned to me and wiped the flour from her hands onto her apron. It was strange, I thought. Emerald’s features weren’t much more dog-like than Eleanor’s, but somehow Emerald’s clothes—especially her flowered apron—looked wrong, like a child dressing up a kitten.
    ‘I’ll tell you something though,’ said Emerald.
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’m scared. No, not about the murderer.’ She smiled, but it was a bitter smile. ‘One thing about living with a clan of werewolves—we’re unlikely to be attacked by psychopaths. But our neighbours—that’s another thing.’
    ‘You think they’d really hurt you? Eleanor thought the fire thing was just a warning.’
    Two long canine teeth protruded as she bit her lip. ‘Maybe we should listen to the warning. One of the chief wives down at Soggy Crossing called Eleanor, said she had a stun gun and she’d use it if she saw any wolf about her place.’
    ‘Eleanor didn’t mention it,’ I said slowly.
    ‘Maybe she doesn’t want to admit that her whole human thing is crumbling,’ said Emerald
    ‘Human thing?
    ‘Making us be like humans. Accepted by humans.’ Emerald’s ears flattened. ‘Back in Mum and Dad’s day we kept to ourselves. Didn’t need outsiders. Better that way. Humans will always hate us deep down.’
    ‘Why? Black Stump doesn’t.’
    ‘No, they don’t, do they?’ Emerald smiled, showing her long canines. ‘So maybe Eleanor is right. She usually is.’
    Usually, I noticed, not ‘always’. Here at least was someone who didn’t think Eleanor was infallible.
    Emerald reached into the oven and drew out the tray of scones. They smelt wonderful. My only attempt to make scones had produced rocks. She put the tray down on the table, spread a cloth over them, and sat down on the cushions beside me once more, her body flowing more into wolf shape now she was no longer upright. She grinned at me again, and while her grin wasn’t human, it wasn’t pure dog like Dusty’s. ‘You haven’tasked yet where I was when the murders were committed.’
    ‘All right, where were you?’
    ‘Here. In the kitchen. Or up with the cubs. Or in my bed. Asleep probably. I sleep soundly, for a wolf. The least noise wakes Dusty, but not me. No way to prove I was here, or that I wasn’t. But I’ll tell you this—I couldn’t have done those murders without the family knowing.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I don’t run well enough nowadays.’ She patted her lame leg. Her feet, I noticed, were bare, clawed and furry. ‘Nearer to Heaven isn’t far as the crow flies. Nor is the Patriarch’s.’ She grinned wryly. Her teeth were longer than Eleanor’s, and looked sharp. ‘I suppose I should say “the Matriarch’s” now. But they’re too far for me to limp there and back and still have breakfast ready.’
    ‘Could you have taken the floater?’
    ‘Nope. Rusty had taken it for deliveries both times.’
    Which ruled out Rusty and the others too, I thought, if they were delivering the venison—unless one of them snuck away from the others and took the floater. But surely that would have been noticed. ‘How about a dikdik? You do have one?’
    ‘There’s one in the shed. Doesn’t get used much. Why putter on a dikdik when you can leap across a fence? Unless you’re crippled like me. Yes, I could have used a dikdik. But they’re noisy. Someone would have heard me go. Don’t forget, we have better hearing than you.’
    ‘Emerald,’ I said slowly. ‘If…if you knew—or suspected—that one of your family had done the killings, would you tell me?’
    For the first time