Red Hot Wolfie

by Nyx Halliwell

  Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I try not to stare. His hair seems to have grown two inches overnight. Not as fast as Zelle’s but definitely more than a normal person’s would.

  His voice is husky as he continues to mutter complaints. The cape slips off one thigh as he adjusts it. He hastily fumbles to cover himself when he discovers I’m watching.

  I can’t help my chuckle as I stand and stretch. “We have to quit meeting like this.”

  My attempt to lighten the mood fails. His dark eyes glare from behind the bars. “What am I doing here?”

  The gash on his shoulder has healed nicely. At least he didn’t end up with any new wounds from his latest jaunt. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

  His brows furrow and his gaze slides to the floor. “I closed up the clinic, did some paperwork, took a walk—”

  “In the woods?”

  Silence hangs in the air between us for a heartbeat as he searches his memory. “I was in the park. I thought I saw a man several yards away. He was…”

  Again he trails off. At least he has some recall this morning. That’s a good sign.

  He glances up. “I think he was chasing an injured wolf.”

  I unlock the door, turning my back to him as he exits. “This man—was he about so high?” I hold a hand a few inches above my head. “Dark hair, wearing a utility type vest with lots of pockets?”

  “I barely got a glimpse of him from the back. He wore a windbreaker. The storm was coming up and I thought I’d better head in.” His voice comes from directly behind me. “But the wolf, I saw him before he dashed deep into the woods. He was limping.”

  “You wanted to help him.”

  “The man cursed at him. It made my gut go on alert.”

  I spot a neat pile of men’s clothes on the desk. Uncle Odin has offered slacks, a shirt, and one of his green striped vests. He’s at least five or six inches shorter than Ren, so that should be interesting to see.

  I hand the stack of garments to Ren, keeping my gaze slightly averted out of politeness. “So you followed them into the woods?”

  “I think so.” He stares at the items, but his gaze is a million miles away. “Everything gets a bit blurry after that. I remember smelling the pine trees and soil.”

  “That’s good. Scent is tied to memory, so focus on those fragrances.”

  Shaking his head, he takes the proffered clothes. “I believe it started to rain. I heard an owl hoot, and a coyote howl.”

  This is good. “Do you remember looking at the moon?”

  He falls quiet, shakes his head again. “Hey, can you give me a minute?”

  He wants to dress. I pivot once more to give him privacy and straighten a stack of journals on the desk. “Your memory is better today. That’s promising.”

  “I came to a clearing,” he finally says, “and yes, I remember looking up at the sky. I could just make out a sliver of the moon over the trees.”

  I hear the snap of material as he shakes out the trousers to put them on. I pick up my teacup. The last few dribbles are long cold. “And then what?”

  “I woke up here. What time is it? How did I…” He comes up beside me, shirt in hand. “Ruby, why was I in a wire kennel? Was I drugged? I feel like I have a hangover.”

  I should probably have something stronger than chamomile before I attempt to explain any of this.

  “I’d like to have a closer look at your tattoo.”

  “What?”

  Touching his shoulder, I move so I can fully examine the compass. The center is a paw print, and I’m betting it denotes a wolf’s. “Let’s go downstairs and get some coffee.” I lead the way to the steps. “I have a lot to tell you.”

  “How about we stay right here, and you explain it?”

  Determination sets his features in hard lines. I’m too tired to do this delicately, and the truth has to be revealed. “Look, I’m a witch, and you’re a werewolf.”

  He blusters. “There’s no such thing.”

  No such thing as a witch? Or a were? “I did a spell to prove it. You’re a supernatural creature. The stuff of legends.”

  He blinks and doesn’t move. It’s like staring down his wolf in the woods.

  “I charmed dog food and fed it to you in your wolf form. The hangover is from that—it put you to sleep—and I’m sorry, but I had to capture you before you hurt anyone.” I refrain from adding, “else.”

  “This is nuts. You’re joking, right?”

  Yep, the odds of him wanting me for a friend are dwindling fast. “You’ll have to come back tonight and stay in the cage again. Every full moon, you’ll have to restrain yourself.”

  He continues to stare at me, mute now. The clock on the desk quietly ticks off the seconds, as he struggles with himself. With me.

  I hear Zelle’s voice from the forest: Give it a chance. He might surprise you.

  As though coming to a decision, he shrugs on the shirt and begins buttoning it. “I’ll take that coffee now.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Sleep well?” Uncle Odin asks when we enter the kitchen. “Good to see you again.”

  The smells of melting sugar and warm vanilla greet my nose. Matilda is leaning on the oven with a mitt on one hand while she texts with the other. Cinder is pouring coffee for herself and grabs another cup for me. “You look like you need something stronger than tea this morning.”

  Ren doesn’t seem happy to see any of them, but he’s still gracious as he tells Uncle Odin, “Thanks for the clothes.”

  Uncle Odin smiles. “Any time. Have a seat. Do you like streusel? Matilda made cherry.”

  “I can’t stay.”

  “Sure you can.” Cinder hands him a mug. “I’m sure you have questions.”

  Matilda pockets her phone when the timer goes off. “Lucky you, we have answers.”

  Belle breezes in and hugs me before I sit. “How are you doing?”

  “Stiff from sleeping on the floor, but otherwise okay.”

  Zelle enters in a cloud of jasmine and papaya, and heads to the fridge. She grabs the orange juice and starts pouring it into the glasses already on the table. She’s shaved her head, but it’s already formed a layer of peach fuzz over her skull and her magick has turned it icy blue. “You’ve got quite the howl, wolf boy.”

  Ren’s face falls. “Sorry?”

  “We aren’t quite there yet,” I tell her. “Still trying to come to terms with…that.”

  “What’s the problem?” She glances at him. “Being a werewolf is pretty cool, if you ask me.”

  He clears his throat, but accepts the glass she hands him. “Werewolves don’t exist.”

  “Knew I should have got a picture last night.”

  I pass a glass to our uncle. “Can you call Poppi today and ask him to keep an eye on the PI team’s blog? A couple members were in the woods last night. I want to be sure none of us show up on video.”

  “Done.” He pats my hand.

  “Nonni called,” Cinder says. “She was worried you hadn’t shown up for eggs this morning. I explained about Ren.”

  A muscle jumps in his jaw.

  Matilda sprinkles powdered sugar on the streusel before she puts a hot pad on the table and places the dish on it. Cherry juice bubbles from the ends.

  “You made this?” Even with the wolf topic taking center stage, I’m in awe of the fact she baked something so delicious and didn’t burn it.

  “Don’t be so shocked.” She cuts it into slices and begins dishing it. “All I had to do was put a spell on the oven.”

  Ren chokes on a swig of juice.

  “But you don’t bake,” I remind her.

  “I watch The Food Network. They make things far more complicated than necessary, but they don’t possess magick, so I suppose that’s forgivable.” She leans over to pass a plate to Belle. “Plus, it’s reality TV. They’ve got to have the ticking clock and drama. Mundanes love that.”

  I accept a serving for me and one for Ren. “Where did you get
the recipe?”

  “From one of Eunice’s books,” Cinder explains. “Beware, the streusel is charmed.”

  “Is not.” Matilda appears affronted. When we all look dubious, she adds, “I swear. I didn’t need to charm the ingredients, only the oven so it wouldn’t burn.”

  “You know, I really should be going.” Ren pushes his chair away and stands. “I have, uh, appointments.”

  He strides out, leaving the rest of us staring after him.

  “So that went well,” Zelle says, digging into her portion. “That boy needs proof.”

  I’m not sure even a video of him shifting would convince him right now. My heart hurts for the confusion he must be encountering. “How would you feel if you thought you were purely human, only to move to a new town and discover you’re something out of a fairytale?”

  “You don’t think he ever shifted before he moved here?” Belle asks around a mouthful of her breakfast. “How is that possible?”

  “I have no idea.” The coffee has turned sour in my stomach and I play with the food on my plate as I hear the door slam downstairs. “All I know is he’s shifting now, and the woods are not safe. How do I keep him from encountering those investigators?”

  And how can I be sure he didn’t kill that man?

  Cinder reaches over to touch my arm. “You have to keep trying. He’ll come around. Remember what Mom always said about Daddy? How she had to work on him for months to prove she was a witch?”

  Our parents’ courtship is legendary. Dad was non-magickal and Mom totally fell for him in elementary school. Even though he didn’t believe in such things, and called her a weirdo for years, she eventually won him over in tenth grade by fixing his beater car—not with magick, mind you, but with her skills.

  “I could kiss you,” he’d told her, and that’s when she did, in fact, use magick to take him up on the offer. That apparently knocked his socks off. He was putty in her hands after that.

  I smile, remembering them. How in love they were. From the letters Belle found, my fourth great-grandparents were like that, too. Even Nonni and Poppi are role models for meeting a soulmate and being together for the rest of your lives.

  Time. Is there ever enough?

  “I’ll try again this afternoon. If nothing else, I have to convince him to stay here tonight and not look at the moon.”

  “I’d rather not repeat our time in the woods,” Belle remarks.

  “You and me both.”

  “Eat,” Matilda orders. “I want to know what the cook thinks.”

  Giving in, I taste the confectionary treat. “It’s good.” It is too. I take another bite. “I may need to hang up my apron strings if you’re this talented at feeding us.”

  She guffaws, but looks pleased. “Don’t get used to it. I have no intentions of doing this on a regular basis.”

  Cinder winks at me, seemingly relieved. “Take Ren some candy,” she advises. “That will win him over.”

  That afternoon, I walk to the clinic, my best selection of chocolates in my basket. The waiting room is empty, and I find him in the back room, putting together a new shelving unit.

  “Need any help?”

  He glances at me, then away.

  “Intruder, intruder!” The parrot sits on a branch screwed into the wall.

  “Meet George,” Ren says.

  The bird flaps his bright wings without flying, tilting his head at me. “Already met. Already met.”

  I laugh. “Nice to meet you officially, George.” Then I explain about the previous night. “I still owe you for the kibble.”

  “Nah. Hand me that screwdriver, would you?”

  I look to the spot he’s pointing at and retrieve the tool. “How’s the reorganizing going?”

  Our fingers brush as he accepts it. “Slow. I keep finding more things to do, and I dread going near the filing cabinet.”

  “I’m good with computers and paperwork. I can start on the files, if you want.”

  He meets my gaze and studies me for a moment. “What’s in the basket?”

  I lift the napkin to show him. “I wasn’t sure if you prefer milk or dark chocolate, so I brought a selection of both.”

  “I’m not picky.” He chooses a truffle with raspberry flavoring. Before he’s done chewing, he nods vigorously. “That’s delicious.”

  “No magick involved,” I promise.

  He gives me a side-eye gander, then returns to the shelving unit construction. “What’s it like? Magick?”

  That subject would take years to delve into. “I can’t imagine life without it. It’s…magickal, pun intended.”

  He screws a plank to an upright leg. “But you’re a witch. You control it, not the other way around.”

  I see where he’s going. He’s been mulling all of this over, which is good. “Being a werewolf isn’t all bad.”

  “In horror movies, they’re monsters.”

  “Hollywood likes to overdo it on the drama.”

  He attaches the shelf to the wall, the sound of the cordless driver noisy enough to make George flap and fly to the waiting room. “Next, you’ll be outlining the ten pros of being a werewolf.”

  Ten might be stretching it. “Your senses are heightened, and you’ll have increased strength. That’s pretty awesome.”

  Considering it, he begins screwing in the next shelf. “I suppose.”

  This doesn’t seem to be winning me any points. “I bet you can use it to tune in to your patients and understand what’s wrong with them.”

  That gets his attention. “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  “How, exactly?”

  “Your compassion and ability to understand them on a more primal level. It has to be an advantage.”

  He stops, grabs another candy, and makes a blissful face. “Man, these are amazing.”

  “Secret recipe that only a few special people get to sample.”

  “I’m special, huh?”

  I flash my biggest smile.

  He puts down the tool and shows me to the receptionist’s station. “You sure you want to tackle this?”

  The file cabinet is piled high with cream-colored folders. The computer is nearly as old as I am. Papers cover the desk, and the answering machine is disconnected.

  What a disaster. “You should see our office after a big sales day. I’m undaunted. Go work on your shelves. I’ll have this cleaned up and organized before you’re done.”

  “Is that a challenge?” I can see the idea fires up something in him.

  “Are you a betting man?”

  “I’ll buy you dinner at your favorite restaurant if you get this mess fixed first.”

  I hold out a hand. “And if you win, I’ll supply another basket of my gourmet candies.”

  “You’re on, Little Red Riding Hood.”

  We shake, and I hide my grin, knowing magick is going to help me whip this place into shape in no time.

  He’ll be putty in my hands before the moon rises.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “We’ve made an interesting discovery,” Robyn tells us before closing later that day.

  The store is empty for once, but I’ve had too much mint tea and chocolate, the caffeine putting my nerves on edge, even though my body feels like rubber. At least Ren agreed to come over tonight, and was quite impressed by my reorganization of his office.

  Winning him over with candy and my skills seems to be working.

  “What is it?” I ask, wondering if she has somehow discovered Ren’s secret.

  “The man you found in the woods has been identified.”

  Cinder turns the door sign over and flips the lock. “Who is he?”

  My fingers shake, and I clasp my hands together to hide it. Cinder moves to stand next to me and her steady presence is appreciated. “A local?”

  Robyn sniffs a bar of Luscious Lime soap. “His name is Brady Hargraves. From Lancaster, Pennsylvania.”

  Not from here then. That could be good or bad. “What was
he doing in the woods?”

  “I believe he was following the Paranormal Investigator Team, trying to prove they’re fakes. I’m getting conflicting reports from the fans who accompanied them here. Hargraves definitely had a fixation with them and was, apparently, part of their team at one time. I’ve spoken to his family, and they have various theories about why he might have been here. I want to interview the members and see where it leads.”

  I consider telling her Jenny and Wagner were there last night. About Ren seeing Wagner chasing an injured wolf.

  Having to explain why I was there, however, isn’t a good idea.

  “Has the medical examiner determined the cause of death?” Cinder asks.

  “Dr. Woolsey was right. Hargraves wasn’t killed by a wild animal. The ME discovered a blow to the back of the head and believes that’s the cause. He hasn’t completed the autopsy, so we should know more once it’s finished.”

  The relief I feel is overwhelming, yet the bite wounds are still a concern. “But this fellow was attacked by a large dog or possibly a coyote, like Ren suggested?”

  “Not per se.” Robyn looks pensive. “The wounds are consistent with the animal using its teeth to drag the body. Weird, but maybe it was trying to take it to a cave or den. There are some of those in the National Park.” She shrugs. “Anyway, I don’t think magick was involved. This looks like plain old homicide.”

  Cinder puts the lime soap in a bag and gives it to her. “No charge. Any clues to the identity of the killer?”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” She folds the bag and tucks it in her inside coat pocket. “No solid leads yet. Until I find the culprit, be extra careful and stay out of the woods.”

  This is directed at me. How many times am I going to hear that this week?

  I go to the wastebasket and remove Jenny’s business card from it. “One of the investigators, the woman taking pictures, gave us this. She wanted to talk to Belle about what happened in September. She and her partner, a guy who goes by Wagner, are the two that have been the most persistent. I know there are others as well.”

  “The guy with her yesterday?”