Beauty is the Beast: Beasts Among Us - Book 1

by Jennifer Zamboni

I watched her lift a couple of forkfuls of shepherd’s pie to her lips, but she barely took a nibble. She did drink her water, so at least we didn’t have to worry about her becoming dehydrated. She looked tired and as if she was barely holding it together. In this case, I was sure the truth was on display.

  I led her up the stairs to my room after dinner. “I’m going to send one of the girls after your stuff. Do you have a key with you?” I rushed around the room, trying to tidy up.

  “You don’t need to do that for me,” she said, standing with her arms tightly hugging her rib cage like she was trying to hold herself together.

  “You need your things.” I paused to rub her shoulder. I wasn’t really sure how to do the whole comforting thing.

  “No, I mean clean. I’m not really worried about that right now.”

  “Oh.” I kept tidying anyhow while Mem dug keys out of her purse, which I brought downstairs to Lacey.

  “Can you pack her some things?”

  “Of course.” She took the key from me and headed for the door.

  “Don’t forget to lock up after you’re finished!”

  “I won’t!” And she was gone.

  Doug was still sitting in the kitchen. Alone.

  “All right, what do you want?” I crossed my arms and settled my weight onto my right leg with my left extended slightly to the side.

  “What’s it like? Being a werewolf, I mean.” He got up and walked across the room to stand by me.

  That was his question? Did he want me to help improve his show?

  “Sometimes it’s great, and sometimes it really sucks,” I answered

  “Example?”

  “The change is incredibly painful, but once it’s over, and you let the wolf out of its cage, it feels like nothing can stop you.” Why was I telling him this?

  “If you bit me right now, would I become one?”

  Oh, God. He was serious. “No. I’m not an alpha changer.” And I was beyond thrilled that I couldn’t change anyone. It wasn’t a responsibility that I wanted.

  “What’s an alpha changer?” He looked up from his mug, his eyes shining with interest.

  “He’s a pure fae, not actually a werewolf. He doesn’t change, but his bite alters human DNA. I’m still human. I’ve just got fae magic in my blood.”

  “Did it hurt?” He turned his gaze down to his feet as he shuffled his sneakers.

  “Probably. I wasn’t really conscious after the bite.”

  “Do you think, if I could get an alpha changer to bite me, I could be normal?” His eyes looked like a lost child’s, peeking out from his hairy face.

  He thought being a wolf was more normal than having hypertrichosis?

  “I honestly don’t know, but I wouldn’t think so.” I had to be honest. He was so hopeful. I rested my hand on his forearm, wishing I could soften my words to make him feel better.

  “But it’s worth a shot.” Doug pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against and left me feeling a troubling sense that I was responsible for whatever he tried to do.

  I could hear Mem alternately tossing and crying throughout the night. I’d let her have the bed while I sacked out on the floor in a sleeping bag. I didn’t mind. It felt right having her there instead of sending her home alone.

  We hadn’t discussed how long she would stay, but I’d tried to make it clear that she was welcome to stay for as long as she needed.

  I stopped by the funeral home early in the morning with her list of wants for George’s funeral. She’d requested that I comb his hair. He didn’t have much, and the undertaker could have done it, but it meant so much to Mem for me to do it. It isn’t uncommon for someone to request their stylist to care for a deceased loved one’s hair, or for theirs. A time or two during my career, I’d had older woman request that I style their hair when they died. I agree every time. It’s not something they need to be worrying about, and I’m not uncomfortable with dead bodies. I got over that a long time ago.

  However, spending my morning in a funeral home did not prepare me for what was coming that day.

  Stress, stress, and more stress. There’s only so much a werewolf can take.

  I checked on Mem as soon as I got back, but she was still asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, I got ready in my bathroom, trying to avoid the clatters and slams that accompany such activities.

  A yawn cracked my jaw as I worked through my clients. I thought I had some pretty good excuses for being distracted. Now I just needed to get back on track.

  It was a kid morning. We got Matty, Thos, and Dale right off. And then I got Evelyn Gagner. She was a new client for me, but I swore I knew her name from somewhere. I studied her as she made her way over to the shampoo bowl. Forties, solid build, trendy professional. Nope, I wasn’t placing her.

  I vigorously scrubbed shampoo into her hair, rinsed it, then let her conditioner set for a moment.

  I asked her about the weather. It was apparently a beautiful day.

  I checked the water temperature one more time with my fingers before rinsing her hair out, wrapped her up in a towel turban, and led her to my chair.

  “So what did you have in mind for today?” I utilized my customary opening line to break the ice.

  “Just a trim. Maybe like this much?” She held up a clump of hair pinched about an inch up from her ends.

  “Sure, that should clean it up nicely. Do you want me to take the same amount off the layers?” I combed and sectioned her hair with clips.

  “Please. So how long did Penny work with you?” she asked, as if we were still talking about the weather.

  “Uh, a year or so.” I didn’t think anything of it and began cutting.

  “What was she like?”

  “Outgoing, eager, fun.” I continued on with my work.

  “Uh huh, and did she ever say she felt like someone was ever, uh, watching her?”

  Why was she asking so many questions about Penny? “No.”

  “Are you worried you’re going to be next?” Evelyn asked.

  “Are you a reporter?” I dropped my comb on the floor and kicked it under my station.

  “Yes.”

  Well, a cookie for telling the truth. “Don’t ask any more questions.”

  I grabbed another comb from my drawer and pressed my lips shut.

  She turned herself in my chair so she could view the rest of the salon and whipped a little notebook out of the purse she insisted on holding in her lap.

  I breathed deeply, willing my self-control to remain intact, and hurried with the cut. As she continued taking notes, I turned her to face the empty fireplace. Let her take notes on that.

  I blow-dried her hair and charged her extra for the style. I’m a firm believer in pain-in-the-ass tax.

  Thankfully, I got her out the door before she could con someone else into answering her questions. I really hoped she wouldn’t use my name in the article. I hadn’t thought of protesting that.

  I decided I didn’t like reporters.

  As soon as I got a chance, I pulled Percy aside and told her what had just occurred.

  “I have a feeling she won’t be the only one. Is there any way we can keep them out?” I asked.

  “Not if they’re paying. Just do the best you job you can, and steer the discussion back to small talk. I know it’s not right to use them as an advertising opportunity, but we might as well while they’re breaking down our doors.”

  Percy was probably right, but I didn’t like it.

  Mem shuffled down the stairs partway through the day, then on into the kitchen. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot from crying, with bags underneath large enough to carry small dogs. She seemed to like Hades, nice young man and all that, so I hoped he’d be back there to keep her entertained and not thinking about her circumstances.

  It was definitely a kid day. Big people ones and little people ones. There is no need to differentiate if the mentality is the same. Of course, ‘adults’ paid more, so I guess I would have to acknowledg
e the age portrayed on the Big People kids’ IDs.

  I’d just finished blow-drying one such ‘adult’ when a van pulled up outside the salon.

  Then another.

  And another.

  A guy climbed out of the back of the first van carrying an expensive looking camera and jumped to the ground without a wobble.

  Not one, but three separate news crews were setting up outside the salon. I didn’t even know we had three local stations.

  Out of each van emerged the pretty people. News journalists in their suits and perfectly done hair. Oh, and really bad makeup. I could see the foundation lines from inside the salon. Of course, I have better eyesight than most.

  There was a small commotion from their makeup teams as they completed a bit of primping and retouching.

  Horrible, horrible work. How do people like that get hired?

  Big, fake, too-white thousand-watt smiles took over their overly made up faces. I couldn’t hear a word, but I wasn’t liking it.

  Percy finished up a haircut, sending the woman back to her busy day. As soon as she made it out the door, she was mobbed by scary teeth and cameras.

  She was a deer caught in headlights. Her eyes grew wide as she froze, glued to the spot. When the mics were shoved in her face, I could see the color drain out of her cheeks.

  “Hades!” I shouted with more growl in my voice than I intended to let loose. I knew if I went out to direct traffic, I might rip some throats out.

  “What?” Hades poked his head through the back door of the salon.

  “Have a look outside, then go intimidate.” I tossed my head in the direction of the window.

  I watched as Hades threw off his glamour, little flimsy thing that it was, and became a god. On second thought, maybe I was the better choice. He opened the door with such force that I thought he’d take the door off its hinges.

  Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should, Hades.

  He slammed the door behind him, shaking the whole house. I was shocked that he didn’t crack the door frame. He towered over the news people, effectively blocking Percy’s client from the media’s view.

  Another person pulled in, one of our regulars, scheduled for a haircut with Lacey-Marie. Hades had to escort him from the car to the salon. It looked like he had a job for the day.

  The parking lot was getting backed up with four or five people coming and going at any given time and only one Hades.

  Even with Hades escorting clients back and forth, the news crews still managed to mob a good half of our clientele. I could tell he was getting fed up with his new position, but he kept at it.

  From time to time, Percy and I would go out and help clear paths, all the while trying to avoid being filmed ourselves.

  Things escalated when a beat-up old car pulled in, and the door opened. Could Doug have picked a worse time to come play 20 questions with the werewolf? Not to mention that 20 questions with a werewolf really isn’t a smart idea in the first place.

  I could see his door, partway open, his furry head peeking up over the top, trying to detect the perfect moment to run for it.

  Hades saw him and decided to come to his rescue. It looked like he was going to run one news anchor over in his pursuit of a clear path. Together, the two men booked it to the door. The resounding slam that accompanied them shook the room.

  “That’s it, we’ve got to do something about this. They’ve got to go.” Hades set the lock on the door, keeping the media out.

  “Honey, you can’t lock the door. We’re still open.” Percy stood with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot.

  “Yes, well, I’m done for the day. You want someone to make the news cracks play nice, you do it.” Hades stomped across the room, not caring that we still had a salon full of clients.

  “Can the police do anything?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. They haven’t come inside yet,” Percy answered, shaking her head.

  “They’re harassing everyone who comes and goes, but I doubt the cops can do anything about that. They’ll just wait off property and film there.” Hades seated himself on one of the waiting area couches.

  The woman waiting across from him looked frightened.

  “Maybe we should shut down until this all blows over,” I suggested, earning a pout from my client.

  “You’ve got my vote. No one’s gonna wanna go through that anyhow. Let’s finish up everyone here. Then we’ll post a sign at the bottom of the driveway,” Lacey-Marie suggested, wiping her razor on her dark pink skirt, then following her customer to the front counter.

  “I second that. We should’ve stayed closed in the first place.” I fluffed my client’s hair and asked, “How’s that feel?”

  “Perfect. Does this mean he’s not going to walk me to my car?” she asked while running her fingers through her new hair.

  “I’ll walk you out. Don’t worry.” And then I’d march right down the driveway and plant a sign to tell people to go away.

  “Just give me a moment. I’m making a sign. Sorry, Perce, you’ve been outvoted. We’re closing. Can you go get me some wrapping paper?” I figured wrapping paper would be my best thing to wrap around our sign and secure with duct tape.

  “I’ll get it,” Lacey volunteered. She’d finished cashing her client out.

  “I’ll go with you,” Doug said, appearing at my elbow.

  Sneaky little fuzz ball. “I can take care of myself, thanks. I don’t think you need to get filmed again.” Besides, I’d have to worry about him while we were out there.

  Lacey danced up to me, carrying an enormous roll of green paper printed with orange wrapped presents.

  “This is god-awful,” I said, taking it from her.

  “I figured no one would miss it.” Lacey curled her lip at the paper in mock disgust.

  I located one of those jumbo permanent markers that make you lightheaded as soon as you pull off the cap, and wrote: ‘Sorry, closed until further notice’’ in giant letters. A quick dig through the desk drawers got me a roll of packing tape.

  “All right, ladies.” I picked up the wrapping paper, stuck it under my arm, and wore the packing tape like a bracelet on my left wrist. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready!” they called in unison.

  “Wait for me!” Percy’s client clip-clopped her way over in sky high heels.

  “All right, stick close.” I prepared myself with some deep, fortifying yet calming breaths.

  Doug, ignoring my refusal, took up the rear.

  Hades got the door for us. He was adamant about not going back outside. The door sounded very final behind our backs, like we were going to battle.

  If we were a movie, we would have been filmed in slow motion. Me in front, set face, battle ready. Three frightened women keeping close behind. My faithful Neanderthal guarding our backs. The media crew was the attacking horde, brandishing their lethal . . . cameras.

  All right, so maybe the fantasy film analogy didn’t work. I wasn’t allowed to cut anyone anyhow.

  I delivered the first woman to her car without a hitch. The other two were a challenge because one of the cameramen figured out what we were up to. They were like sheep following a bucket of grain.

  Doug ran interference, which was pretty effective—you don’t see too many people covered in that much hair in Maine. Wait, I take that back, Maine was full of people just like him, with just their eyeballs peeking out from under bushy brows and above wizard-like beards. They came out once a year for their annual sheering in the spring.

  Woman number two I shoved into her car. She helped us by gunning her engine, then driving at the camera crews while she had their attention. They scattered, and I got woman number three into her car.

  The three vehicles acted as my escort to the end of the driveway and then took off.

  I’d never moved so fast in my life, wrapping up that sign, and taping it in place. I grabbed Doug’s hand and hauled ass back to the salon. I’m surprised he kept up with me. I wasn’t
even trying to be human at that point.

  The door open, via Hades, and I grabbed the handle from him, producing my own satisfactory slam. I leaned against the solid wood of the door, sliding to the floor.

  “Well, that was intense.” I tucked my knees up to my chin and reached up to twist the lock, breathing hard.

  The others were all busy going through our books, canceling the rest of the day. It was too bad we couldn’t know how the next week would go, so we could stay ahead of the game.

  Doug flopped next to the front desk, fighting to catch his breath. “I thought I was in good shape, but you, damn,” he gasped out.

  “You are in good shape. I’m just—” I stopped that line when I remembered I wasn’t ‘out’ to the girls. “I work out a lot.”

  Doug nodded, catching on to what I actually meant. It didn’t matter how in-shape he was. I had wolf magic coursing through my veins. It was an unfair advantage that I was okay with.

  Mem wandered back into the salon.

  “What on earth is going on out here.” She caught a glimpse of the circus going on outside our front door. “Oh.”

  “I’ll catch you up later,” I promised.

  She nodded and shuffled back out. She shuffled a lot, like her husband had been the only thing keeping her limbs working.

  “Come on, man, let’s go for a hike. I think the girls need to talk.” Hades gave Doug the man nod towards the back door.

  Doug pushed himself up off the floor and followed him out.

  I shifted my carcass from my spot and headed to the waiting area where the others were gathered.

  “So now what?” asked Toni. Not being a stylist, she wasn’t feeling threatened by the current crisis.

  “Good question. How about it, ladies, what do you want to do? We can’t keep shutting down the salon. We’re going to lose business.” Percy started the impromptu meeting.

  “I think we can probably get a restraining order to keep the media off the lawn,” Meredith suggested.

  I hadn’t expected her to speak up. Meredith seemed to be the quiet, reserved type.

  “Perhaps. I’ll call the police. What about the rest of it? I know this is a hard time for all of us. How are you all doing?” Percy took notes. Real notes this time, not doodle notes.