by K. M. Shea
He was once again sniffing in my direction, although this time, he was much more discreet. He noticed my gaze and gave up all pretenses of being courteous. He stopped and leaned over to sniff my neck. He pulled back, the tip of his nose twitching.
“You saw Devin.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yep.”
“He left you alone?”
“After some encouragement, yes,” I carefully phrased.
Frey looked disgruntled for a moment before he started charging forward. We popped out by Tiny. Dave was waiting there for us. We waved goodbye to the giant before wandering through Union Station.
I was most suspicious when Frey paused for a moment. “I’ll be right back,” he said before disappearing up the stairs.
“So. Morgan. How was the front desk?” Dave asked before twirling on the tips of his toes.
“Good. I helped answer questions with Toby,” I replied.
“Oh. You were working with that little carefully caffeine-cultivated creature?” Dave asked.
“Yes. I saw Devin, too,” I said, spitting out the name.
“Oh, my,” Dave said, nearly falling over mid-twirl, his beer belly jingling. “I meant to talk to you about that, Morgan. Frey may begin acting…oddly.”
“What?” I asked, my forehead wrinkling.
“Here you go,” Frey said, hopping down the last three steps with athletic ease. (That, at least, was something the books didn’t lie about.) As he breezed past me, he shoved a Mango-a-go-go flavored Jamba Juice in my hands. “Your favorite flavor, right?” he asked, peering over his shoulder to check.
“Y-yes,” I stammered, unused to Frey’s kindness.
“Good. Come on, we don’t want to miss the train,” Frey beckoned.
On the way home, Frey sat next to me, his arm casually thrown across the back of our seat. Occasionally, he let it slide down to bump me in the neck before returning it to its previous position.
We didn’t talk, and Frey alternated between peering past me to look out the window and watching the other passengers.
Across from us, Dave mouthed, “See? Oddly!”
I could only wish I knew why Frey was being so…kind. It was making me paranoid.
Tuesday followed Monday’s pattern. Frey actually stopped by my locker to chit chat with me once between classes, and again we were partners during Spanish. (I didn’t exactly appreciate that part. I had to wade through Spanish verbs without any partner or teacher assistance—Dave knew even less Spanish than Frey did, which was a pathetic excuse. He had been alive far longer than either of us and had a long life ahead of him.)
I probably would have continued to be pleasantly surprised by Frey’s sudden personality swap, but the events that took place during my lunch hour made me question the safety of my heart.
I was eating with Fran, Emily, Samantha, and a few other friends when Frey tapped me on the shoulder.
“Frey, hey. What’s up?” I asked, discreetly wiping my mouth with a napkin after greeting the werewolf.
“Hey Morgan. Can I talk to you for a bit?” Frey asked tipping his head away from the lunch table.
Emily giggled, and Fran outright smirked as I said, “Sure,” before I slid off the bench.
“What’s up?” I repeated as Frey led me out of the cafeteria and towards the front doors.
“I need to ask you to do a big, big favor for me,” Frey said, turning to face me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I need you to take me for a walk,” Frey said, holding out a forest green collar and leash.
“What?!”
Frey reached out and clamped his free hand across my mouth. “Not so loud,” he whispered, glancing at the secretary seated behind the front desk. He exhaled when she did not look up.
“What do you mean, a walk?” I shrilly asked when he removed his hand.
“I’m going to change, so I need you to walk around with me, holding my leash,” Frey said.
“Whatever for?” I tightly asked. Every particle of my being said this whole idea was wrong. Why did he want to go on a walk?!
“Look, Dave refused to drink his tomato juice again, and he got away from me in the hallways. I saw him run outside, and the fastest way to track him would be to transform into a wolf and sniff him out. But I can’t run around like a stray pet. I must be on a leash.”
“Can’t I just put the collar on you once you’ve transformed and leave it as that?” I begged.
Frey shook his head so emphatically I swear I could hear his brains rattle. “No. No way. That’s not enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“I used to do that whenever I needed to transform—wear a collar that had my family’s address on it. I would even curl my tail like a husky so I looked less fierce. But whether it’s because I’m an actual wolf, or because I’m so large when I transform, the last time I did that, someone called animal control. I was shot with a tranquilizer and taken to the humane society. My parents had to come with a wizard to bust me out. It was horrible,” Frey said, shivering at the memory. When he looked up, I’m pretty sure he could tell I was starting to break. “Please, Morgan? I really need your help,” he said, the green depths of his eyes turning soulful.
A warm feeling bubbled up in my stomach, and I squashed it down with the strength of a troll. Think of Brett; think of Brett! I told myself. (I didn’t need a wizard to tell me a magical guy was nothing but trouble. I would NOT fall for Frey or anyone from the MBRC!)
I sighed. “Fine. Let’s go. I want to get back early enough to finish eating lunch.”
Frey’s face transformed into a toothy smile. “Thanks, Morgan, come on. Let’s go outside. Here, you can use my jacket,” he said, handing me his black jacket to throw over my shoulders as we exited the building.
Together, we walked around the building, heading for the parking lot.
“Here’s good,” Frey said, stopping behind the first row of cars.
I took the leash and collar from Frey and awkwardly turned around. “Right so… what now?”
I heard Frey’s shoes shuffle on the cement, and seconds later, a wet nose pressed against my hand.
I looked down, and there was Frey. He was huge and unmistakably wolfish, even with the curled tail.
“Um, so I put the collar on, right?” I asked, crouching down next to canine Frey.
He nodded and stretched his neck out very nicely so I could loosely buckle the collar on. With a lot of resignation, I clipped the leash to the collar.
“I want to go on the record of saying this is so wrong. It feels wrong; it looks wrong; it’s just wrong. What kind of werewolf needs to be walked on a leash?” I complained as Frey started off, his tail wagging as he padded along.
Frey led me around the back of the building, his nose to the ground as we passed the field house, soccer field, and track and football field.
I was jittery. Walking Frey on a leash felt like I was pulling wings off fairies—although I was grateful for Frey’s jacket, which served as a very nice windbreaker.
I was finally settling into the idea of the transformed and trotting Frey being on a leash when we walked across the teacher parking lot and saw a teacher.
“Oh, my gosh! That’s Miss Grebki, my English teacher!” I hissed. “If she see’s us, we’re toast!” I said, throwing myself behind a car.
Frey peered around the corner of the car and sniffed the air. He turned back to me and cutely waved his tail in a circle above his head like a husky before trotting off, heading straight for my teacher.
“Wait, Frey, no—wait!” I hissed before the canine dragged me out from behind the car.
“Morgan, what are you doing out here? With a dog?” Miss Grebkei added after a moment’s hesitation.
“I, um, you see,” I stammered, glancing down at the white wolf.
Frey did nothing to help me and instead sat down, cocking his head at me.
“This is… Dave’s—I mean Señor Smith’s dog. H
e asked me to watch him for a few seconds, but it’s been ten minutes, and I can’t find him anymore. We’re looking for him,” I said.
“Really?” Miss Grebki said, shifting her weight to one side as she fixed me with an evil eye.
“Absolutely,” I nodded.
“Morgan!”
I looked up with intense relief, spotting Fran standing on the edge of the peace garden. She was with Brett Patterson, shielding her eyes against the sun as she stared at me.
“There’s Fran. She must have found Señor Smith. Bye, Miss Grebki,” I said, setting off at a jog. Frey loped at my side, flinging his tail around like a carefree dog.
“Fran, I am so glad to see you. You too, Brett. You guys just saved me,” I said, drawing closer to them. “What are you doing out here?”
“I have study hall, and I wanted to talk to Fran,” Brett grinned.
“I came looking for you. Someone said they saw you leave the building with Frey. What’s up with the dog?” Fran asked, staring down at Frey, who once again had his nose to the ground.
“This is Señor Smith’s dog. I’m watching him for a few minutes,” I said, the lie coming to me a little easier this time.
“What’s her name?” Fran asked, crouching down to look at him. “She’s gorgeous.”
“It’s…um…Whitey,” I supplied. “He’s a boy,” I added, feeling embarrassed for Frey’s sake, although the wolf didn’t appear bothered by the gender mix up.
“He’s huge! Woah, look at his teeth!” Brett whistled when Frey looked up with an opened-mouthed dog smile.
“Well, if he poops in the Peace Garden, make sure Señor Smith cleans it up,” Fran said, straightening up.
“Fran!” I yelped, horrified as I clutched Frey’s leash to my chest. I checked to see if he felt offended.
He didn’t even look up. He was busy sniffing the air, his tail curled on his back.
“What?” Fran asked, brushing her arms for warmth. “It’s a legitimate point.”
I shut my eyes to try and delete Fran’s horribly insensitive words from my mind. I opened them again when Frey barked—a deep, rumbling noise.
I could see Dave running across the Peace Garden, heading for the school doors.
Frey tugged once on the leash, which I dropped. He barked again and broke into a sprint, full-out pursuing Dave.
He caught him at the edge of the garden, barking as he launched himself into the air and landed on Dave, tackling the vampire to the ground.
“Aww, look. He’s so happy to see his master,” Fran said as Frey grabbed the neck material of Dave’s shirt and shook his head, snapping the vampire like a rag doll.
“Um, sure,” I agreed. “Okay, so, Whitey has been reunited with his owner. Let’s go back inside and eat.”
“All right. But what happened to Frey? You’ve got his jacket,” Fran said as we turned to head back into the school building.
“Oh, he was the one who asked me to watch Whitey for Señor Smith because he had to step out for a minute. He’ll be back later for his jacket,” I evasively said as we passed Dave and Frey.
The vampire was choking on the collar of his shirt as Frey tugged him backwards towards the gardens.
Ten minutes later, Frey dropped by my lunch table for his jacket as a severely disgruntled Dave—who now sported several magnificent looking bruises—headed to the staircase that led to the foreign language rooms.
“Thanks for the help, Morgan,” Frey whispered into my ear as he reclaimed his jacket.
“No problem,” I said, blushing in spite of myself as he grinned at me.
No, no, no! Think of Brett! Think of Brett!
Later that afternoon, Frey, Dave, and I piled on the train after school and started our journey to the MBRC, which gave me some time to ask Frey a few questions that were bothering me.
“When am I going to get hypnotized? It’s been a while. Isn’t that siren back yet?” I asked, slipping my cell phone in a pocket after reading a text from Fran.
“She’s returning tomorrow, but it will take her all day Thursday to catch up with her paperwork. I’ve asked Dr. Creamintin to schedule an appointment with her on Friday,” Frey said, tossing his arm across the back of our seat.
I nodded but was a little surprised. I thought Dr. Creamintin might refuse to hypnotize me because I was such an asset. Internally, I supposed I couldn’t be that much help; I was just one teenage girl. Besides, I knew the office would have to wade through so much red tape in order to keep me, it wouldn’t be the logical choice.
I was surprised when Dave spoke on my behalf. “That’s unexpected,” he said, giving his thermos of V8 a dirty look before taking a swig of it. “I would have thought Dr. Creamintin wouldn’t let her go.”
Frey made a noise in the back of his throat, and Dave gave me a meaningful look.
I didn’t know how to interpret it, and shrugged back at the vampire as Frey’s arm bumped my neck.
Little did I know that Dr. Creamintin actually had been making noises about meddling with my memories—he was quite against it. (It wasn’t often he had a willing subject on hand to help out.) In reality, it was Frey who was pushing the process along.
“Today, I’m working with Toby again, right?” I asked, tugging on a lock of my hair.
“Yes, I believe so,” Frey nodded.
“Great. Can we stop at a Starbucks or McDonalds or something? I want to pick up a cup of coffee for him,” I said.
Frey froze. “Let me get this straight. You want to give Toby, Toby—the hobgoblin who has caffeine instead of blood pulsating through his body—that Toby, more coffee?”
“Not quite,” I grinned at him. “I want to give him decaffeinated coffee and let him think it’s regular.”
“Oh. That might not be such a bad idea,” Frey considered.
“If I’m there long enough, I’ll try to start swapping his pots of regular coffee with decaffeinated. Although I suppose it’s probably not worth the trouble if I’m only here until Friday,” I said, biting my lip.
The smile actually went out of Dave at the thought, and Frey stared out the window. We were somberly silent until we reached the station.
After we picked up Toby’s decaffeinated coffee at Starbucks, Frey dropped me off at the information desk.
“Just shout for me if you need anything. I mean that literally. I’ll be within hearing distance of you today. Even over this racket, I’ll be able to hear you,” Frey seriously promised. “So if that guy comes again…”
I smiled and leaned against the desk. “He won’t,” I promised.
“Right, so…,” he trailed off, making a motion with his hands. I entertained the thought that he wanted to hug me but thought better of it. He was clearly at a loss for how we were supposed to part. “Right,” he repeated before abruptly turning on his heels and walking away.
I sighed and slipped behind the desk.
“Don’t think too deeply about it, dear,” Corona suggested as Doggy twined about my legs and barked at me, flapping his little dragon wings with delight. “He’s only acting that way out of instinct. Probably. Although I suppose…Frey is rather brisk, but even he could fall for someone.”
“What?” I asked, squatting down to pet the blue dragon.
“The affection, the worry, his desire to keep touching you. It’s all a natural part of being a werewolf, not because he’s a hormonal teenager,” Corona told me, shaking a webbed paw at me before turning to a client.
“Someone had better explain this to me soon,” I muttered to Doggy before standing and approaching Toby.
“Hey, Toby,” I called to the hobgoblin. He only muttered a greeting, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “I brought you some coffee,” I added.
He whirled around, facing me with one of his nicest smiles. “For me?” he asked, tapping his long fingers together.
“Uh-huh. It’s a thank you for being so…nice,” I lamely said, offering him the disposable coffee cup.
Toby took the cu
p and slurped half of it down in one gulp. He smacked his lips and looked reflective after swallowing it. “Tastes different,” he observed.
“It’s Starbucks,” I smiled.
Toby’s eyes lit up, and he beamed. He did not thank me, but this was the first time the hobgoblin truly grinned.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Orion said while walking past, flicking his black horsetail.
“It’s better than it looks,” I assured him in a whisper before taking my seat beside Toby.
Toby worked at the same fast and furious pace as he had the day before. He chugged down the coffee within twenty minutes and didn’t seem to be perturbed that no caffeine rush followed the actions. In fact, I had so ingratiated myself with him by bringing the coffee that he did not mind the interruptions to our Q&A time, and they were numerous.
A cyclops, a harried-looking mother towing two children behind her, showed up fifteen minutes into my shift.
“Is Morgan here?” she asked, looking absolutely desolate as her children stood behind her, sticking their tongues out at each other.
“Morgan?” Corona asked, turning to me. I was already standing, having heard my name.
“I’m Morgan. How can I help you?” I asked, striding over to her, flicking Gristles the pervo fairy when he landed on my shoulder. (He was probably trying to look down my shirt.)
A sigh of relief rushed out of the cyclops. “I need your help. I have to fill this out by 4:40, and I can’t read it,” she said, sounding utterly frustrated while tossing a packet of papers onto the desk.
“And they won’t send it to you as a PDF file?” I guessed.
The cyclops shook her head.
I nodded as I nosed through the packet. “This is just a simple change-of-classes request forum? It doesn’t look too difficult. We can get it done with plenty of time,” I smiled reassuringly at the mother.
“Thank you, thank you!” she repeated.
“You’re welcome. Could you give me your name—spelling, too—please?”
Eleven minutes later, the cyclops was on her way, her children trailing after her.
“Dear, you have no idea what you have gotten yourself into,” Corona commented behind me.