The Witch's Guide to Werewolves

by Naomi Clark

  “Just a latte with oat milk. I’m vegan,” Devon said, almost apologetically.

  “Oh,” Callie said, mind going to stupid places. “That’ll … be inconvenient, I guess.”

  Devon grimaced and said nothing.

  Callie gave herself a mental slap and paid for their order, then ushered Devon over to a table in the corner, well out of earshot of anyone who might wander in. She let silence fill the space between them, not wanting to push or pry. If all that happened here was Devon had a coffee and left, then Callie would have to be content with that, despite her burning curiosity.

  Devon plucked a sugar cube from the bowl on the table and rolled it between her fingers. Her nails were broken and muddy, Callie saw, and she wondered absently what Devon made of her own sparkling silver nails.

  “You know Jonas Creek? The wildlife reserve?” Devon asked suddenly, crumbling the sugar cube and staring down at the scattered grains. “I work there. I’m an instructor for this non-profit…Well, it doesn’t matter. I lead wilderness survival courses, basically. You know, orienteering, hiking, that kind of thing?”

  Callie nodded encouragingly.

  The barista set their drinks down, and Devon took a long drag of hers before continuing, as if it was booze instead of coffee.

  “I’ve been training up this new guy, Noah Howard. He seemed nice. Kinda nerdy and shy, but competent, and I figured it wouldn’t take long to get him up to speed. So about a week ago now, we’re out on one of the harder trails and a storm breaks. We decide to take shelter in this cave system until it passes. I’ve done it before—even spent the night there. It’s safe enough, not going to get flooded, no wild animals or anything.”

  Devon paused again, lifting her mug with shaking hands. She stared into the coffee, at the table, at the walls—anywhere but at Callie. Callie’s instinct was to reach across the table and take her hand, offer some silent, physical support. She had no idea how Devon would take that, but she found herself reaching anyway, and to her pleased surprise, Devon gripped her hand back hard, gratefully.

  “The storm kept up until dusk, and then suddenly Noah starts saying he feels sick. I say I can radio for help, but he says no. I go for my radio anyway, and he grabs it and just … stamps on it. It was so out of character, so crazy, I almost couldn’t react.” She shook her head, locks of dark hair falling into her blue eyes. “I’ve never been afraid out in the woods. I’ve faced down mountain lions and mudslides, and I’ve never been afraid, but the way he just flipped like that, that scared me.”

  She sounded almost guilty about her fear, but Callie understood perfectly. Alone in the woods, trapped with a man she barely knew, with a storm raging and the only chance of help smashed underfoot … that was scary. Sometimes it was completely sensible to be afraid.

  “What happened?” she asked gently.

  Devon pressed her free hand to her temple. “I still don’t really know. When I try to remember, it’s blurry, but … I … there was Noah, and then suddenly there wasn’t. There was a wolf the size of a small pony. I remember the smell … wet fur and mud, and something sour. I remember everything going dark, and this enormous bolt of lightning, and then…” She stopped, breathing turning fast and shallow, eyes wide and blank.

  Callie rubbed her fingers anxiously. “Just breathe,” she said. “Nice and slow. Whatever happened, it’s over now. You’re here and you’re safe.”

  Was that true? Callie had no idea, not really, but what else was she supposed to say? And it was working—Devon closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, clutching Callie’s hand so hard it was painful. Callie could almost see her grounding herself, coming back to herself one breath at a time.

  “I guess I passed out, or got knocked out,” Devon said finally, able to meet Callie’s eyes at last. “But when I came around, Noah was gone, the storm had passed, and I was bleeding from the thigh.” She swallowed thickly. “Well, I’ve seen enough dog bites in my time to recognize one.”

  “What did you do?” Callie whispered, grotesquely fascinated.

  Devon’s expression turned sheepish. “I did all the sensible, normal things. I got a rabies shot. I filed a missing person’s report on Noah. I carried on with my life.” She sipped her coffee, more carefully this time. “My boss told me Noah called out sick the next day, and he hasn’t shown up again since. Nobody’s heard from him, until…”

  Callie absently shoved a handful of muffin in her mouth, barely able to concentrate on chewing. “Until…?”

  “Noah called me this morning. Told me this crazy story. I … I shouldn’t believe him. I know I shouldn’t. He’s deluded or psychotic, or… But…” Devon raked her hands through her hair, staring at the table blindly. “But I saw that wolf. I have the scars. That was real.” One hand drifted down to her leg, her lips trembling. “I shouldn’t believe him.”

  “But you do,” Callie said, pushing her plate aside to take Devon’s hands again. “So what do you want to do?”

  “You believe me?” Devon asked, looking dubious. “Just like that? You don’t think it’s insane? I’m insane?”

  “I don’t think I know you well enough to judge,” Callie said. “But you do believe it, and whether it’s true or not, you need to decide what to do next.”

  Devon heaved a massive sigh and leaned back in her chair. “I hadn’t thought past my freak-out, to be honest. I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “You don’t have to decide tonight,” Callie said. She released Devon’s hands and finished the last of her coffee. “Why don’t you sleep on it?”

  A range of emotions passed over Devon’s face, too quickly for Callie to interpret, which might have been for the best.

  “You can stay at mine if you like,” Callie added impulsively. Her guest room was designed to be a sanctuary, and that seemed like exactly what Devon needed.

  Devon bit her lip, looking torn. “You don’t even know me.”

  “You just told me something completely crazy after I found you crying in the woods,” Callie pointed out cheerfully. “I’d say it clearly doesn’t matter that we don’t know each other very well.”

  “At all,” Devon said, but she smiled a little, then shrugged. “If you’re sure I won’t be in the way…”

  “Positive,” Callie said. Was she being naïve? Too trusting? Too eager? Well, probably, but if Devon had wanted to hurt her, she’d had plenty of time on the hike back to her car, and Callie just didn’t get that vibe from her. Devon was tired and hurting, cloudy with confusion. There was no ill-intent in her, Callie was sure of that.

  “Come on,” she said, standing and offering Devon her hand again. A flush of happiness ran through her when Devon took it. “Everything always looks so different in the daylight.”

  Chapter Three

  Callie showed Devon into her guest room, mildly anxious. Every room in her apartment was a little witchy, but the bedrooms were definitely the witchiest since they were also the most private spaces. The guest room was painted pastel pink, with a rose quartz wind chime in the window, a vetiver diffuser by the bed, and little pots of rosemary and lavender on the shelves. All were chosen to promote peace, calm, and rest.

  Alongside the herbs on the shelves, she had some of her vintage book collection, a mix of fairy tales and herbal encyclopedias. McIntyre Books specialized in vintage items, and she wasn’t above pinching books from her stock if they sang to her. Some things just couldn’t be for sale.

  She’d hand-painted moons and stars in silver on the wall behind the bed, in different phases and constellations. She glanced nervously at Devon, wondering too late if that would bother her.

  But Devon sat down on the bed, patting the silvery-gray duvet, and gave Callie a relieved smile. “It feels so calm in here.”

  “Good,” Callie said. “It’s meant to. Can I get you anything? Tea, something to eat…?”

  Devon shook her head. “You’ve already done so much. I th
ink I do just need to sleep. I might be more rational in the morning.” Her smile twisted slightly.

  Callie wanted to hug her, but somehow that seemed a step too far when they were in a bedroom. Instead, she mumbled something about spare towels and told Devon to make herself at home. “I’ll let you get some rest,” she said, heading for the door.

  “Callie,” Devon called her back.

  Callie turned to find her standing, and surprisingly close. Heat flashed through Callie, brief but intense. “Um.”

  “Thank you,” Devon said. Her blue eyes were shining and serious, and suddenly Callie thought a hug might not be out of the question after all. “You’ve been great, and you really didn’t have to be.”

  “Of course I did,” Callie said. “I mean, not that I’m super-great or anything, but I wasn’t just going to leave you crying in the woods. That’s just basic human decency.”

  “Well,” Devon said, managing a real smile, “whatever it was, I needed it tonight, so thank you.”

  Callie returned her smile. “Sweet dreams, Devon.”

  She left without the hug, but her heart fluttered as if it had happened anyway.

  She went to her own room, shutting the door quietly. Like the guest room, her bedroom was designed to be a safe haven. She’d paid tribute to her love of night and the moon in here, painting the walls a soft, dove gray and accenting it with navy and mauve in the furniture and décor. Under the window sat her little altar, decorated with moonstone and selenite, and a peace lily that she kept thriving through a combination of hope and prayer. Her favorite tarot card deck sat there, too, and she went to pick it up now.

  The deck had been a gift from Melissa, back when she still thought Callie’s witchiness was adorable. It was whimsical and colorful, the cards full of butterflies and fantasy flowers. She sat cross-legged in front of the altar and started shuffling the deck, letting her mind wander. Inevitably, it wandered to Devon.

  Once she felt her mind clear, she cut the deck and drew three cards, setting them face-down on the altar. She turned them one by one. The first card was the Fool, a card of new beginnings and making changes. The second was the Page of Swords reversed, indicating mental anguish and violence. The third was the Hermit reversed, speaking of isolation and withdrawal.

  Callie considered them one-by-one, letting her intuition do the interpretation. The Fool was her, surely. She’d set out tonight to mark a new phase in her life, letting go of the past and looking forward. The Page of Swords would be Devon, tormented and unsure. But the Hermit? Where did he fit in?

  She needed to sleep on it as well, she decided. It was late, and the physical and emotional exertions of the night were creeping up on her. She left the cards on the altar and resolved to take her own advice. Everything did look different in the daylight, so that’s when she’d look again.

  ****

  Callie’s dreams were unusually vivid and surreal, full of whirling images that she only half-remembered when she woke up to the gentle chimes of her alarm. Only one fragment stayed with her as she blinked sleepily at her duvet. A wolf howling at the full moon, his cries painfully lonely. She felt strongly it was a he, too, not a she-wolf. Did that mean anything?

  She slid out of bed and went back to the altar, frowning down at the tarot cards. Her gaze drifted to the Hermit and she thought of the mysterious, possibly villainous Noah.

  Excitement propelling her, she rushed to the guest room and flung the door open without thinking to knock. “Devon! What if—oh!”

  Devon stood at the window, wrapped in the duvet. Her upper back and shoulders were exposed, showing off a fading summer tan and lithe figure. Her short hair was appealingly disheveled, and when she turned in surprise at Callie’s dramatic entrance, the duvet slipped just enough to show the enticing curves of her breasts before she absently tugged it back up.

  “Are you okay?” she asked Callie.

  Callie had no idea if she was okay. Her cheeks were flaming hot, and she had a sudden vision of herself, her strawberry blonde hair a tangled nest, her pajamas… Oh goddess, I’m wearing the dinosaur pajamas, aren’t I?

  “Um,” she said, trying to recover her cool. “I’m fine. Did you sleep well?”

  “I did actually,” Devon said. “This room is just so peaceful.”

  “It’s the lavender,” Callie said. “So. I had an idea, I think. About your … everything.” She found herself blushing again and wished that either Devon was wearing more than just a duvet or that she was wearing something other than dinosaur pajamas.

  “Oh yeah?” Devon looked faintly worried.

  “We need to talk to Noah.”

  Devon blanched. “Callie, I can’t.”

  “I’m not saying you have to forgive him, or even be nice to him,” Callie said, holding her hands up. “But he was there that day, and he’s the one saying werewolves are a thing. If you don’t talk to him, how are you going to find out the truth?”

  Devon grimaced. “I was just going to wait for the full moon and hope for the best.”

  “That’s still two weeks away,” Callie said. “Do really want to torment yourself by waiting that long?”

  Devon was silent for a beat, then grudgingly admitted, “No.”

  “Okay then! I’ll come with you. It’ll be fine. You said he called you, right? So you have his number? Why don’t we get dressed, have some breakfast, and try to figure this all out?”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Devon said, the tiniest smile curving her lips.

  “Well … maybe it will be,” Callie said. “Isn’t it better to be hopeful?”

  Melissa would have told her she was being naïve. Devon looked uncertain, and Callie braced herself for rejection. Instead, Devon’s expression became determined, and she nodded, making Callie’s heart lift.

  “Okay. Let’s do it. Why the hell not?”

  Callie grinned. “I’ll get breakfast started.”

  ****

  Callie wasn’t vegan, but she loved cooking, especially for other people, and she found she had enough ingredients to make a batch of cinnamon and blueberry French toast. That was easy enough to make vegan, and Devon’s growl of appreciation as she tucked in told her she’d hit the mark.

  Freshly showered and dressed, Devon seemed to have a new zeal for the day and Callie’s plan. Maybe she had just needed someone on her side, someone to tell her she wasn’t crazy.

  “My friend Lucy handles our HR,” she told Callie through mouthfuls of maple-syrup glazed toast. “I bet if I ask her, she can get me Noah’s address.”

  “Don’t you think it would be better to call him and just ask to meet?” Callie asked, disliking the idea of ambushing someone who was either a werewolf or having a mental breakdown.

  “I’m scared he’ll say no,” Devon said. “If I’m going to confront him, I need to be sure it’s really going to happen, for my own sanity.”

  Callie nodded. This was her plan; it made no sense to throw up obstacles. Declining Devon’s offer of help cleaning up, she started washing their plates while Devon called her friend.

  “Hey, Lucy, how’s things? Yeah, I’m good, I… No, I’m taking today off sick. No, just a bug, nothing serious. Listen, I need a favor, though. Noah left a few things in my car before he … before he took off. Do you think I could get his address so I can mail them to him?”

  There was a pause. Devon drummed her fingers nervously on the kitchen table, and Callie crossed her fingers in the soapy water. Then Devon let loose a relieved laugh.

  “Great, I owe you one. Sure, just text it to me … I know, but even weirdos should get their stuff back, right?”

  “That seemed easy,” Callie said when Devon hung up.

  “Yeah. Lucy’s great, but I guess technically she’s not very good at her job.”

  A minute or so later, Devon’s phone beeped, and she stared down at the screen with a nauseated expression. “I guess we
really have to do this, don’t we?”

  “You don’t have to,” Callie said, “but I think it’s a good idea. And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  Devon smiled. “Well, that’s going to make it easier.”

  Callie felt a sweet surge of pleasure, followed by a determination not to let her down. Devon made her feel … sparkly, like something good was about to happen, and she wanted to chase that feeling, even if the path led past a rogue werewolf or two.

  Outside it was crisp and clear, with just a hint of winter in the air. The tantalizing scent of fresh coffee and pastries tugged at Callie as they walked past Mocha Aroma toward her car, and she was about to suggest they get something to go when someone called her name.

  “Callie! It’s Callie, right? How are you doing?”

  She turned, her heart falling at the sight of Martha, one of Melissa’s best friends and a woman who really had nothing to recommend her. Callie tried to like everyone. Martha defied her best efforts.

  She practically ran toward them, her eyes greedily raking over them both. “How are you? Melissa was just saying the other day she thought she might get in touch with you.”

  “Why?” Callie asked, feeling as though Martha had physically ploughed into her.

  “Just to see how you’re coping. She said…” Martha glanced at Devon and painted on an almost-convincing concerned smile. “She said, you know, you can be fragile. She was worried about how you’re doing. But look at you! I can tell her you’ve bounced right back!” She gave Devon another look, overly-sweet and expectant.

  “I…”

  Devon cut Callie off by slipping her arm around her waist and squeezing her in close, giving Martha an angelic smile. “She sure has. She bounced right into my arms, in fact!”

  Martha’s eyes widened, and Callie could almost see the urge to share this gossip with someone—anyone. Probably Melissa. Callie struggled to hide her frown at the idea. If Melissa had moved on from her, Martha had no need to stir the pot. If Melissa hadn’t (which Callie didn’t think was possible), then stirring the pot was needlessly cruel.