Godfrey was right. It was silly to stay here when something big, ugly, and carnivorous was sniffing around outside her house. Besides, Jolie arrived from Athens next Wednesday; a long stay at Andre and Godfrey’s luxury penthouse might be fun.
“Okay, Home Depot it is for the spare bulbs. I’ll leave Tadpole here. He’s fast asleep under the couch. Seems a whole hour on guard duty has pooped him out.”
“See? Look at us holding the fort. Wouldn’t Andre and Jolie be proud at how clever we are? So grab your purse and let’s go.”
*
She’d started with the blond guy. Godfrey. She watched as he went about his work, and skulked around the bookstores and coffee shops close to his flower shop. His scent was good, a tart lemon verbena that promised summer and smelled of sunlight and fizzy sorbet. But it was only a top note. His underscent was dark and very sexual. His mate was strong, not an Alpha like Ren, but important enough to saturate his lover in a wolven musk that signaled his ownership for miles.
Isabelle had no interest in him. It was the woman who accompanied him that snared her. A small, dark-haired, compact woman, who had been wounded somehow, but was not weak. Her scent was something else. Complex and powerful…and safe. Isabelle couldn’t break it down into component parts. She didn’t fully understand it, and that intrigued her.
In a matter of days, she had discovered the woman’s name. Hope Glassy. And where she lived. At first, Isabelle’s wanderings had brought her by Hope’s small house. Drawn by scent and a vague, unfocused notion that some sort of solace could be found by simply being close by.
Now she actively sought it out. By day she would casually walk past unseen on the other side of the street, confident in the knowledge Hope had gone out to work. She knew because she watched Hope bustle out the door with her bag and umbrella at six forty-five a.m. on the dot. At night, after Hope returned and walked her dog, Isabelle would lurk in any handy shadow and watch the darkened windows.
Sometimes the little ginger dog would bark from inside the house. He knew she was there, but he didn’t threaten; he wanted her to know he was aware.
Isabelle was fascinated. This was a pack home, a small one, and the woman was central to it. A big wolf lived here. A mean one. But the woman kept it tame and cared for it. She wondered what it was like to be on the inside. What comfort and answers lay behind the happy yellow door? But she could sense warning, too. This woman was mated, she was a mainstay in a wolven world Isabelle knew nothing about. The house, its walls, roof, yard, windows, even the path leading up to that yellow door pulsed with warning, as if a protective spell had been wrapped around the entire building. Isabelle felt it right through to her bones, and coveted it.
She’d been out all night and was starving. Her appetite was enormous these days, despite the fact she was losing weight at a steady pace. She was exhausted now. Her feet hurt from walking, but she didn’t want to go back to her apartment until her neighbor had left for work. She didn’t want to meet him in the hall. She prickled around him; she wanted to snap her teeth and growl out a warning for him to leave her alone. To step back and keep out of her head space, it was too crowded in there already.
Barry made her feel like that, too, with his whining self-pity and passive threats. Thinking of him always made her upset and uneasy. She didn’t trust him. He’d been trying too hard to find out where she’d moved to. He wanted her to go back to him. He begged and cried and pestered her until she felt choked.
Isabelle circled Eastmoreland with a graceful, measured stride and slowly headed back to the only segment of city that made her feel secure: Sellwood and Hope Glassy’s house. If she kept too far away it made her anxious. Hope’s home was the nucleus to her ever-contracting world.
The neighborhood was waking up to a sun-filled Friday morning. People were beginning their commute. Traffic was increasing. Cars and school buses passed by her. She had stopped running once she hit the busier streets. Now she wrapped her coat tighter around her body and trudged on, trying to blend in.
Two blocks away from Sellwood Park a dark luxury car cruised past. Isabelle glanced up and locked eyes with the woman in the passenger seat. Hope Glassy stared back; it took a split second before recognition flashed across her face. Isabelle turned away to stare blindly at a shop window.
The car rolled on, and in the window’s reflection Isabelle could see Hope twist in her seat to look back. Isabelle ducked her head and scuttled away. It was a bad thing to be seen this close to Hope’s house. Part of her was panicked, and part thrilled that Hope remembered her. Perhaps she had some sort of an affinity, too? No. More likely Isabelle had been careless and Hope was aware of her. Her rashness had sabotaged even the simple luxury of walking past Hope’s house. If she wanted to continue her quiet visits, then no one had to know. If she couldn’t go to this house and soak up the scents and the calming ambience that pulsed out of it, she would die. As simple as that. She was withering away as it was, becoming more and more lost and incapable. For some unfathomable reason, this little house gave her hope and promised all manner of possibilities. It was her oxygen. The most basic component of her current existence.
She stumbled on. The streets were quieter now that the initial commuter rush had tailed off. She turned the corner of Hope’s block. The yellow door winked invitingly at her. Hope’s Ford was parked out front, but she knew she had gone away in the big black car. It was safe.
Isabelle began her vigil by slowly walking by, her eyes glued on the house, always looking for clues as to the pack that lived there. She basked in the fleeting calm that filled her, and wondered at the lure that kept bringing her back. A fuzzy ginger head popped up at the window and the little dog began to bark. The glass muted his shrill yapping. Isabelle hesitated. He was barking out some sort of welcome rather than the warning she’d half expected.
Now he was playing a game. He’d duck down from the window and run along the couch, only to pop up at the other end and bark at her again. Isabelle crossed the road and stood before Hope’s front lawn watching. Back and forth he ran for a good five minutes or more, popping up at one end of the window, then the other until a smile creased Isabelle’s face and a chuckle bubbled in her chest. She could not remember the last time she’d smiled; her face was etched into a blank mask these days. People didn’t register her, or if they did, they ignored her. The dehumanizing suited her—she was a no one, a derelict, an invisible. Now this little dog and his antics had her standing in the street giggling.
The laugh lifted her spirits and made her feel giddy. She forgot herself for a moment and came right up to the living room window. His barks became louder and more excited. Her reflection caught her eye and wiped the smile from her face. She looked awful. Her hair was a mess and she had dark smudges under her eyes and scratches on her cheek and neck. That did not surprise her. Her skin had become unbearably itchy these last few days no matter how much she bathed or smothered herself in creams. She focused beyond her reflection and into the room itself. She had never been this close to Hope’s house before, and her eyes devoured every little detail. She saw a cozy living room, airy and bright, and styled in neutral shades and warm cherry wood. Bold artwork adorned the walls, and occasional mementos and photographs were scattered on various surfaces.
Isabelle zoned in on one of these now. On a small table beside the couch she could make out a framed photo. Hope Glassy stood before a tall, dark-haired woman. They’d been skiing, and they glowed against a backdrop of white slopes and blue sky. The taller woman had her chin resting on Hope’s shoulder and her arms wrapped around her. They were laughing for the camera. Isabelle’s stomach did somersaults. She felt physically sick to the point of staggering. Hope Glassy smiled up at her from the circle of Ren’s arms.
In a fit of foolhardiness, fueled by stupidity and pure jealously, she slunk around the side of the building. The backyard was secluded from the neighbors but she was still uneasy. She wrinkled her nose. A musky scent lingered in the air, faint and spice
d with anger and a slow, simmering malice kept on a short leash. A shiver ran through her. She was on another wolf’s territory, skulking around its mate. Her fingers brushed across the rough scratches on the doorjamb. Deliberate marking, a warning of some kind, but she couldn’t read or understand the scores.
A tinny bark rang out. The dog had followed her around to the kitchen door. Isabelle reached out and touched the handle, and with the gentlest of pressure, she pushed down. It slowly swung open on well-oiled hinges.
Chapter Eighteen
“We went to buy home security stuff and you left the door wide open?”
“You left the door wide open. You stole my keys, remember? I assumed you’d have the wit to lock up.” Hope took a timorous step into her kitchen. It had been ransacked. The fridge lay open, its shelves stripped, the contents strewn on the floor and over the countertops. All the kitchen cupboards hung open and cereal packets, cookies, raisins, fruit, flour, rice—everything edible had been ripped apart. But Hope had other, more pressing concerns.
“Taddy?” she called in a fear-filled, wobbly voice. He came tearing down the hall to meet her. “Oh, thank God you’re all right.”
He jumped up on his hind legs to welcome her, smearing her skirt with buttery paws. Before she could grab him, he snatched a raw sausage from the floor and made for the living room, his tail wagging all the way in triumph.
“Oh my God,” Godfrey said. “Look at this place. How did he manage it?”
“Tadpole didn’t do this. He’s grabbed at the heaven-sent opportunity some other intruder left for him.”
“Well, he seems happily unconcerned,” Godfrey said. “We’d better check the rest of the house, then call the police.”
Tadpole’s sticky paw prints were everywhere, evidence of his delight at the ransacked kitchen. But Hope wasn’t looking for his paw prints. She was worried there might be other, far larger ones. There were none that she could see, but they had to check the rest of the house just in case.
“Do you think it was the feral?” Godfrey cautiously moved ahead of her to follow Tadpole.
“Maybe. It could still be in the house. Be careful, Godfrey.”
“Nah. It must be long gone or Taddy wouldn’t be so cheerful. Even he wouldn’t dive on a free feast if there was a feral loose in the hou—” His words were cut short as they entered the living room. Tadpole sat shivering with excitement on the couch, his eyes glued on the woman in the chair opposite. His tail thumped up and down nervously, but it was obvious he liked the stranger.
Godfrey froze by the doorway, and Hope had to push past him to confront the stranger. This was the woman she’d seen lurking around the neighborhood in the past few weeks. Now she sat in Hope’s house, in Jolie’s favorite armchair, nursing a photograph taken on their winter vacation.
“Hello,” Hope said with as much calm as she could muster. Quickly she assessed the situation, but felt no immediate danger. The floor around the woman’s feet was littered with Tadpole treasure brought for her delectation. The snatched sausage lay there, along with some broken cookies, his bed blanket, and a favorite play ball. It was almost a shrine. Whoever she was, she had Taddy’s seal of approval, and that made Hope relax ever so slightly. They were not in immediate danger.
“There was no need to break and enter. You only had to knock.” She set out to take control with courteous authority. This was her home—den, whatever. She was the boss here.
“I didn’t break in. Honestly. The door was open. I’m sorry about the kitchen. I can’t stop eating. I get a little crazy around food these days.”
“I think I understand,” Hope said, examining the woman more closely. Who was she? Where had she come from? There was no mistaking the air of vulnerability around her. She was strung-out and plainly wretched.
“Well, I don’t,” Godfrey muttered behind her.
“I promise to clean it all up.” The woman addressed Godfrey directly, picking up on his quiet words.
“I’ve seen you before,” Hope said, and steered the conversation where she wanted it to go. She needed this woman to trust her enough to explain what was going on. “Over on Milwaukee, and again by the park.”
The fact that she had been hanging around the neighborhood showed she wanted to establish contact of some sort, but was probably unsure how.
“Oh my God.” Godfrey had picked up on who she was now.
“I live nearby. Close to Reed,” the woman said.
Reed College was ten minutes away. Hope tried again, more direct this time. “I’m Hope Glassy and this is my friend Godfrey Meyers. What’s your name?”
“Isabelle. Isabelle Monk. Are you going to call the police? I didn’t mean to come in. But I did eat all your food. I’m sorry.” Her voice sounded tight and panicked.
“It’s okay, Isabelle,” Hope reassured her. “I don’t think the police would be useful in this situation. You’re wolven, aren’t you?”
Isabelle stiffened. “No. No, I’m not. At first I thought you were. But when I got closer, you both seemed different. You smelled…”
“Human.”
“Not quite. Not like everyone else does.”
Hope indicated the photo frame Isabelle nursed in her hands. “That’s because our partners are wolven.”
“I know.” She looked down at the photo, her hands trembled. “Your partner is so like Ren,” she said. “I saw this through the window and had to take a closer look. I thought it was her for a moment.”
She seemed very crestfallen.
Hope perched on the edge of the couch and scratched Tadpole’s ears before pushing him off onto the floor.
“That’s my partner Jolie. I don’t know anyone called Ren.” This was interesting and confirmed Hope’s suspicions as to why Isabelle had latched on to her and Godfrey’s scent. There had to be a Garoul connection.
“She’s so like Ren,” Isabelle repeated, confounded by the likeness.
“Look closer. Do you see that little chip in the lower front tooth? Jolie also has a fleck of black outside the edge of her iris. Look at her left eye. The fleck is on the upper outside edge. See?”
Isabelle studied the photo, becoming more confused. “I can see the differences up close, but from a distance it’s really spooky how alike they are.”
“The Garouls are a big family. I suspect this Ren of yours is connected to them in some way.”
“She’s not my Ren.”
“Tell me what happened, Isabelle,” Hope said softly. Isabelle was squinting at the photo, turning it at different angles to the light. She was either still transfixed by the likeness or entranced by something that so reminded her of this Ren person. Finally, she set the photo frame back down.
“I really thought that was Ren with you.” There was a little relief in her voice, but not enough to make her sound entirely happy. “Now I feel stupid.”
“Don’t. When you know them better it’s easy to tell them apart. But at first glance all the Garouls bear a strong resemblance to each other,” Godfrey said.
“Can we assume your Ren is probably a Garoul?” Hope asked.
“She’s not my Ren and I don’t know the Garouls.” Isabelle’s tone hardened. “Well, I did see one of their almanacs once. In Ren’s kitchen…” She trailed off, embarrassed and distracted.
Hope could see she was becoming agitated. She needed Isabelle to remain calm, to tell them what had happened so they would know how to help.
“Can I talk to you for a moment,” Godfrey said. It was a statement, not a question, and he indicated Hope follow him back out into the hall.
“Are we mad? There’s a feral sitting in your living room. Shouldn’t we be calling someone? Getting advice. I think we should call Marie,” he whispered urgently once they were out of the room.
“Taddy seems to think she’s harmless.”
“Taddy also drinks from the toilet bowl, hardly harmless.”
“He hasn’t done that in ages. But you have a point. I’ll keep talking to her and
try to find out who this Ren is. She sounds like a Garoul, but none that I’ve met.”
“Me neither. The name isn’t familiar. I wonder who she is?”
“Look, you go to the kitchen and call Little Dip. Tell Marie what’s going on and see what she says.”
“Okay. But I’m still nervous. Don’t turn your back on her for one second. It’s too convenient that she should come calling the minute Jolie and Andre are out of town.”
Hope returned to the living room. “Godfrey’s going to clean up the kitchen and make us some tea.”
“What’s Little Dip and who’s Marie?” Isabelle asked. “I could hear you talking.”
So she had other heightened wolven senses besides smell. Her hearing was exceptional. Hope jotted this away for future reference. She decided to be straightforward with Isabelle. She needed her trust if she was to help her in any way.
“Little Dip is the Garoul home valley. And Marie is the Garoul Alpha. We’re asking her for advice.” She kept her answers honest and to a minimum. “For the moment, let’s just concentrate on your story, Isabelle. Tell me what happened to you, from the beginning.”
“What sort of advice?”
“I’m not sure yet. But Marie will know how to keep you safe.”
“I don’t feel safe. I feel like I’m going mad.” Her voice and body trembled.
“Godfrey will bring us some tea. It will warm you up. Meantime, tell me how you got to be…unsafe.”
“That’s part of the whole mess. Some of my memories are missing. I had a car crash. Well, I know now that I probably strayed into the middle of a hunt. There was this deer…” Her voice faded away and her eyes took on a distant, troubled look.
“What about the deer?” Hope gently called her back to the present. Isabelle took a deep breath and continued.
“They were hunting deer. There seemed to be dozens of them everywhere, but I found out later there were only five or six.” Again her voice took on an edge that worried Hope. How much control did Isabelle have? Godfrey was right. It was madness to stay in the house with her, but Isabelle was here now and ready to talk to them, to share her story. And they had to find out what the hell had happened to her in order to help her. A feral werewolf should not be prowling the streets of Portland. And no matter how much Isabelle might deny it, she was wolven. The Garouls had to be told, but Hope wanted the full story before the Garoul machine went into motion.
Indigo Moon Page 17