The howl came from under the floor. We raided 69 Settler’s Avenue under a full moon, me and the police squad. We’d been tipped off two nights ago, but I’d delayed the raid until the full moon. The owner of the house was a certain Klaus Xavier. Wife died twelve years ago, officially of childbirth. I’m Coltrane. Private Investigator Vince Coltrane, unofficially affiliated with the NYPD. I’ve been established… Man, I don’t even know how to translate it into your time. I handle special jobs. Anyway, there’s Klaus mouthing off in his vest and soiled pants, saying stuff like he’ll knife us if we don’t leave. God, he smells to high heaven. Beer cans everywhere, living room lit by widescreen TV, cracked picture of wife on wall. There’s only one sofa. His bum-print’s practically carved into it. Neighbour called us because Klaus’s daughter went missing five days ago. Usually, she’s out putting up the washing or walking herself to school. Social workers visit weekly. Them and school told us about her cuts and bruises. The usual stuff. She’d “tripped”. When we found the trapdoor, we opened it up and found her there. Belladonna Xavier, named after her mother, probably in a pitiful attempt to bring her back. She was howling fit to burst, covered in uncut hair down to the floor, chained up. According to Klaus and his shouted excuses, she’d cheeked him. God knows what passed for “cheeking him” in his insane mind. Man, it felt good putting the cuffs on him. He mouthed off all the way to the car. But that wasn’t why I came here to 69 Settler’s Avenue. No disrespect to Belladonna, poor girl, but I needed something else. Wasn’t easy to get her to talk, though. Not right away. One of the female officers, PC Pryce, guided her to the van – maybe the poor kid was used to taking orders – and spoke to her the whole trip. I was there, saying nothing. Belladonna weren’t the werewolf, though. It took a few hours to get her to talk, coaxing her out of her shell. Fetched her stuffed bear. Let her watch TV – Hammer Horror, natch. Yeesh, PC Pryce got her playing pat-a-cake. What is the mortal world coming to? I stayed in plain sight the whole time. Aversion therapy, or something. Over time she stopped glancing nervously at me. Got used to my presence. I ain’t that scary-looking, relatively. The squad found her some nice clothes, and when she came back to the interrogation room, I sat opposite her and tried a smile. Give me some credit. I usually don’t bother with smiles. PC Pryce left the room. After all that, I cut to the chase. “Here’s what I want to know. You went out for old Xavier. You got groceries and things. No one spoke to you – no one [i]mortal[/i]. But someone taught you how to howl like that. That’s no feral child stuff. Wanna tell me who taught you?” She didn’t talk at first. I bided my time. Time don’t mean a lot to a being like me. Eventually, the little Belladonna said, “What are you going to do?” “I work for a… ‘charity’. Looking for lost little lambs who wander away from home.” Lambs? Ha! I was laying it on thick. “Neighbour saw you learning the… lingo from some woman one night. Howling werewolf language. Who’s the wolf?” “She’s my friend.” “I know she’s your friend. I’m here to… help her get back home. Who is she?” “[i]She’s my friend.[/i]” On and on and on this went, until PC Pryce came back and insisted I leave. I was stressing the “poor dear”. Well, no point pushing. Let the girl stew for a bit, then come back. Had to be done, I’m afraid. Monsters and men never meant to coexist, so my boss once told me. Werewolves and little girls? No chance. Disaster beckoned. You couldn’t tame a wolf. So they say. I peeked through the glass. Belladonna howled at PC Pryce for a bit. PC Pryce shushed her, looking at us. Well, well, well. Pryce? I knew [i]her[/i]. Decent type. Total sap for kids. Could be a real chatterbox off-duty. Officially, I was doing the job. Looking out for eldritch strays to take back forever. But… nothing concrete here. Some cases just aren’t that cut-and-dry. Besides, anyone who can control themselves under a full moon? No problem. I watched them play pat-a-cake. The job has its bright spots.