The Werewolf Nanny

by Amanda Milo

  Susan slowly crosses her arms. Fur sprouts on me, I get so nervous just from the aggressive way she’s faced off with Finn. In an admirably threatening tone, she warns him, “You have two seconds to apologize for that or you’re going to be sporting more bubble froth than Cujo.”

  My snicker is a total surprise. It comes out of nowhere. Both of them turn to look at me.

  I drop to the ground.

  Susan remarks to Finn, “See that? I feel like his mother raised him right. What’s your excuse?”

  Finn grins down at her, eyes twinkling. “I’m an alpha.”

  CHAPTER 20

  SUSAN

  We’re in the car, and it seems like the whole Pack is here, or at least everyone we met at lunch. We said our goodbyes over a half-hour ago, and we still haven’t left the driveway.

  This, Deek informed us, is what’s known as ‘an Irish goodbye.’

  “I thought an Irish goodbye was when you leave a party without saying your farewells to anyone first,” I’d said to him.

  Deek, eyes lowered, quirked his lips and gestured at our surrounded car. “And this is why the phrase is used for that. Eventually, you’ll learn to duck out if you intend to miss the fuss.”

  People keep coming up to us and chatting, stringing together conversations and engaging us. It’s friendly and they’re wonderful, but if we don’t leave soon, we’re going to need pee breaks—and I’m afraid if we get out of the car again, we’ll never leave.

  “What’s going to happen to my mom?” Ginny asks, sitting forward in the middle of the back seat so that she’s hanging over the console and can better see Finn, who’s glued himself to Deek’s window, practically obliterating Deek as he leans inside and chats with us like he loves our company so much he can’t walk away.

  Ginny’s question makes Finn revert to a much more serious mien. He withdraws from the window a little, which gives Deek—who has his salad bowl on his lap for catching puke just in case we get the chance to drive home—a little more room. Finn meets Ginny’s gaze with more solemnity than I’ve ever seen from him. “We’re going to teach your mam what it means to be Pack. We’re going to do everything we can to help her clean up and fit in here.”

  Ginny’s eyes don’t waver from his, but he doesn’t seem offended by her direct eye contact. “What happens if she can’t, or… won’t?”

  Finn swallows, but he doesn’t shrink away from answering. “We’ll make sure you get the chance to say goodbye.”

  Ginny’s head drops so suddenly it’s like a puppeteer cut her string.

  Tentatively, Deek reaches out and pats her shoulder. When she doesn’t flinch away from him, he carefully pets her hair.

  I rub her back.

  “We’ll be showing you the ropes too,” Finn says, trying to draw her out of thoughts of how things might go if her mom can’t recover in the ways the Pack demands. “And you’re going to do great.”

  “What if I’m like her?” Ginny questions, still slumped over the console, her voice bleak and her breath choppy.

  “You’re not,” Finn murmurs with feeling. “You aren’t like her, and you know it.” He takes in a breath like he’s not sure he should go any farther, but with a glance at me and the occupants in the back seat, he does, his stare moving to Ginny’s bent head. “The Pack is made of people who have good heads on their shoulders. Strong people, and I’m not just talking in the physical sense. We didn’t survive in secret this long by having members who couldn’t control themselves. We need decent folk, and Ginny, you do us proud on all fronts. You’ve kept your nose clean and you have nothing to worry about. Y’hear?”

  Without a word, Ginny sinks back until she’s sandwiched between Charlotte and Maggie in her car seat.

  “We’re going to head home,” I announce for maybe the third time. “Thanks again, Finn.”

  “Say, would you three like ice cream for the road?” Gail calls from the porch.

  Maggie reacts like they’re giving away free puppies and kittens and Liams. “MOMMMMM, CAN WE HAVE ICE CREAM?”

  “What is it with you and ice cream?” Ginny asks her over Charlotte’s groan.

  Deek darts a glance at me from the corner of his eye, and head slightly ducked like he’s doing something wrong, he orders, “Turn the car on.”

  “I don’t want to waste gas and I’m afraid we’re going to be here awhile—” I start.

  Deek reaches for my hand, which was already on the key, and covers my fingers with his. With gentle pressure, he turns the key in the ignition using my hand’s grip.

  He leans out the window. “Loved seeing everyone. Goodbye.” He puts his left hand on my knee. “Go.”

  “Susan!” Jennifer calls. “It was so nice to meet you! I’d—”

  Deek pinches the outside of my thigh. “Go.”

  “Ouch! I don’t want to be rude, and did you really just—”

  Deek soothes the spot by rubbing it lightly, although he doesn’t verbalize an apology out loud. “Susan, they won’t be offended. Really. They know what they’re like.”

  “Hup ya boya! Tracey is coming up the road!” someone calls from outside.

  “Tracey!” someone shouts.

  Another voice calls, “Heya, it’s Tracey!”

  A herd of werewolves—or a pack, I guess—runs up to an approaching vehicle that has a small flashing light on the roof.

  Our car is so filled with confusion it should be fogging up the windows. “Who is Tracey?” Maggie asks.

  “Drive, Susan,” Deek orders. He twists to address Maggie. “She’s the mail lady.”

  “Bye, Finn!” As I put us in drive and get rolling, Charlotte is snickering. “Werewolves get happy when they see the mail lady?”

  “Are you serious?” asks Ginny.

  Deek faces the front, shrugging. “She always brings us treats.”

  “That’s sad.”

  Deek isn’t offended by the assertion. Instead, he says, “You say that because you haven’t tasted her cookies. You’d chase after her for a chance to have them too.” Idly, he watches his packmates surrounding the woman’s car as if he might be considering the merits of leaping out the window and chasing her down for a cookie right now.

  “Deek?” Charlotte asks.

  “Yes?”

  “What do you do? I mean, before you came to live with us.”

  Deek’s easygoing as always when he replies, “I work for the church.”

  There’s a polite pause before Charlotte asks, “Really?” Her tone says That’s a real job?

  He glances in her direction. “Yes.”

  “What do you do?”

  Seemingly not bothered by the prying, he still shifts his gaze away—but not cagily. Just… him. Submissively. “We’re a studying church, so the congregation gets together to read passages and break the text down verse by verse. I research the time periods and offer backgrounds on the chapters. I also have access to the Chaldee, Hebrew, and Greek translations. Those become helpful when the material doesn’t seem to make sense, which could be a case of a mistranslation.” His hands are clasped in his lap, his posture easy. “Sometimes it’s simply useful to have a refresher on world events at that time, like knowing about Cyrus, the ruler of the Persian Empire, and Alexander the Great, when you’re studying Kings and Isaiah. I also teach Sunday school every other weekend.”

  “So you’re like… a preacher?” Ginny asks.

  “Our church calls teachers pastors.” He clears his throat. “Like for a flock.”

  “A flock of werewolves,” Charlotte intones.

  Deek relaxed hands tense to fists on his thighs as he winces. “Yes.”

  “Wow,” Ginny says.

  Maggie raises her hand so that I connect gazes with her in the rearview mirror. “Can I go to church with Deek?”

  “Umm,” I start, not sure if we want to attend werewolf church. Not even sure we’re allowed to attend.

  Deek blurts, “Why was the math book upset?”

  Everyone in the c
ar is instantly bewildered.

  I throw him a nonplussed look before turning my attention back to the street. “...Why?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Deek’s Adam’s apple bob like he’s gulped air. “Because he had a lot of problems.”

  There’s a loud moment of silence.

  Charlotte clears her throat. “Deek?”

  “Yes?”

  “That was painful.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Tell us another one!” Maggie encourages.

  Obediently, Deek does. “What did the buffalo say to his little boy when he dropped him off at school?”

  “Oh no,” Charlotte says faintly.

  “What?” Maggie asks.

  Deek smiles a little and answers proudly, “‘Bison.’”

  Maggie bursts out laughing like he’s hilarious—making his smile grow.

  Ginny, in the middle seat, covers her face with her hands. “Are all werewolves like this? Full of lame dad jokes?”

  “No,” Deek answers.

  “Another one!” Maggie cries.

  Deek nods to himself. “Why don’t vampires go to barbecues?”

  “I don’t know. Why?” Maggie is grinning ear to ear. Charlotte and Ginny are looking disturbed at Deek’s hidden talent for terrible jokes.

  Deek chuffs a quiet laugh, gazing out the windshield. “They don’t like steak.”

  Unable not to ask, I look to him. “You know, it was such a big deal when werewolves came out. And since there are werewolves, a lot of people have been wondering… are there vampires?”

  Deek freezes.

  When I chance a glance at him, I see fur sprouting on him.

  “Deek,” I say carefully.

  He ducks. Or to be fairer—he flattens.

  “If you aren’t supposed to say,” I tell him quickly, “that’s okay. Pretend I never asked.”

  His body relaxes.

  Maggie shouts, “I want to know!”

  Deek explodes into a full werewolf, causing me to slap my blinker on in order to be as polite as possible when I swerve to the curb and slam us in park so I can free him from his clothes and adjust the seat belt.

  “I guess that answers that,” Ginny says, eyes wide in the rearview as I roll down Deek’s window so he can stick his muzzle out while I pull back into traffic.

  CHAPTER 21

  LUCAN

  THE FIRST OFFICIAL DAY OF SCHOOL

  The idea that a two-day school week will ease all parties into the school day routine of the year probably looks like a great plan on paper. In reality, it’s a pretty hectic morning. The dread and excitement of returning to classes (regular classes, that is, with a load of non-accelerated ones for Charlotte and Ginny) is so strong I would have been able to sense the girls all the way down the block. Without werewolf senses. Being that I’m in the house with them and I am a werewolf though, the swirl of emotions and tension is a whirlwind for me to absorb.

  But by seven-thirty, the ladies are successful at making their way out the door. Sue offers to drop me off at the Pack or at the pub, but I tell her I’ll be fine here. I can do my research for work and clean up the house a little.

  I dig into a bit of both types of work until somewhere around eleven, when I get a text message from Charlotte.

  Hi Deek, this is Charlotte. I’m really sorry to ask, but I forgot my Chromebook… is there any chance you could bring it to me? If not, I can ask Mom if they’ll let her off of work.

  I locate her Chromebook on the desk in her room, and then stare at the front door.

  Carrying items and handling doors, gates, and nakedness is a problem.

  After a moment’s consideration, I text her, “On my way,” and set my phone down on the kitchen’s island. I take one of Maggie’s many backpacks (all of which like to spill out of her closet, I found out when I was tidying this morning). This one happens to be a llama-shaped one, and I place the Chromebook in it, strip, and toss in my track pants (I leave the rest of my attire on a barstool at the island), my cell phone, and the house key. Then I lock up and walk out the back door. I change to a wolf, adjusting the backpack straps until the pack sits easily between my shoulder blades without shifting or pinching—and then I jump the privacy fence.

  And I just have to say, thank God it’s a Chromebook and not a full laptop, or the slap it makes to my spine would leave me crippled. As it is, the backpack bangs uncomfortably on my back, making me glad I don’t have far to go.

  It’s a three-mile lope to Charlotte’s school. Never having been to the school before, I feel very out of place as well as lost, but I trot into the parking lot, find my way between two low-slung cars, change to human, remove the backpack, drag out the track pants, and make my lower half decent. I wish I’d brought my boxers because even though they’re just one more delay in the process of getting appropriately covered up for public outings, I feel downright indecent going boxerless on human school grounds.

  Barefoot, I carry the llama pack by its neck and step out from between the cars, aiming myself at the entrance of the school. Digging into the pack, I find the phone and text Charlotte.

  She’s at the door of the school before I finish ascending the steps. Ginny is with her, clutching a pink hall pass, and both of them wave to me.

  “Thanks, Deek!” Charlotte gushes as I hand her the Chromebook. “You’re awesome!”

  “No problem,” I tell her. I look between them, making eye contact at about the level of their cheekbones. “Need anything else, or are you set?”

  “This was it. And this was huge. Seriously, thanks!”

  I nod to her and wave awkwardly. “Okay. Bye, then.”

  “Bye, Deek! You’re super,” Charlotte says, heartfelt.

  “Have a safe trip back, Deek,” Ginny adds kindly.

  “Thank you.” I turn, and move down the steps—but stop when I hear a tiny familiar voice.

  “Deeeek!”

  I turn, my gaze sharpening as I scan the area with purpose: building, building, blacktop, cars, cars, truck, cars, sidewalk, chain link fence, playground equipment, recess guardian, children—

  Maggie.

  Maggie is at the fence, waving wildly at me along with a group of similar-aged children.

  I can’t help the way my smile spreads.

  Feet slapping pavement, I jog across the little strips that separate the high school from the middle school and finally reach the grade school, where Maggie is waiting for me.

  The recess guardian is eyeing me with extreme suspicion, and she’s beginning to herd the children away from the fence.

  “Wait!” Maggie cries. “That’s Deek! He lives with us. My mom is his alpha,” she shares.

  “He’s a werewolf?” the guardian asks, and Maggie misses the deep well of horror in the woman’s tone.

  “He IS,” she confirms proudly. “And he’s the best one, except for Liam. Liam is my puppy—a werewolf one—and we’re going to adopt him next.”

  Ummm…

  Liam’s only half werewolf, strongly takes after his Aardwolf mother, and I’m not sure where Maggie got the idea that we’re adopting him, but I don’t argue. I just wave to the recess guardian and crouch down at the fence line. “Hi, Maggie. It’s good to see you, but I only came to drop something off for your sister. I better go.”

  Maggie is crestfallen. “But you just got here.”

  “That’s true, and tell me something.” I frown at her. “How did you know I was here?”

  She points to the parking lot. “I saw you run between those cars and walk out like you.”

  I smile at her for thinking of my wolf and me, a man, as one entity.

  The guardian has had her fill of a grown man naked from the waist up (and ankles down) talking to a child. She catches Maggie by the elbow and tugs her away from the fence like I might have rabies. “Sir, if you want to see her, you need to check in with the school office. You need to leave! Now.”

  I hold up my hands, get slowly to my feet, and take a healt
hy step back. “I’m sorry. And no worries. We were just saying hi.” I wave to Maggie. “Have a good day, Mag—”

  A chipmunk emerges from a hole in the ground behind the playground guardian.

  I try to whip my head to the side, but it’s useless; I’m transfixed on the colorful racing-striped rodent.

  There’s a reason that chipmunks are a rare sight on Pack territory.

  Werewolves love chipmunks.

  And while squirrels are equally addictive to chase, chipmunks, being mostly ground dwellers, are a snack we stand a great chance of catching.

  And I. Am. AWESOME at catching chipmunks!!!

  Hunting them is the closest thing I have to a superpower. (Well, if you don’t count the fact that I can turn into a wolf.)

  Unerringly, the delectable creature’s beady black eyes find me. Our gazes lock. Predator and prey.

  It twitches.

  I jerk hard.

  My heartbeat thunders in my ears. My fangs push past my lips, getting tickled with air.

  DON’T CHASE IT, LUCAN.

  With a chittering screech, the animal takes off across the playground.

  Oh, crap.

  From a standstill, I leap the fence and speed after it, uncaring of the screams and screeches that erupt from the guardian and grade schoolers alike. I effortlessly shift to wolf form. My track pants get shredded off of me. I don’t feel the bite of the backpack’s straps. The predator in me has awoken; I’m powerless to stop trailing my prey.

  And when I overtake it, I snap my jaws around it, flip it high into the air, and growl with victory as I catch it out of the sky. I no more than lick my chops when another one darts for cover, hoping to escape the same fate.

  It doesn’t.

  Neither does the next one.

  The screams and wiggling are so exciting that for a few minutes, I may as well be out in a forest, happily chasing down the cocky screeching rodents.

  It only takes me those few minutes to come back to myself and realize that’s not where I am. That the screams I’m hearing aren’t only of the chipmunk variety. But by then, the damage is done.