Melange

by Kristy Tate

  But the air between them remained strained.

  “What can I do?” Lizbet said.

  “Nothing. She’ll need help when she gets home from the hospital, but like I said, I don’t know when that will be.”

  She swallowed. “And your plans for Duke?”

  “Are on hold.”

  “You’re such a good person.”

  “Thanks. I don’t deserve that.”

  “Why would you doubt it? Besides, neither you nor your mom deserved what happened.”

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and his shoulders sagged. “I have to go,” he said in a small voice. “But before I do, can you tell me how you knew about the accident?”

  “I didn’t know. Obviously if I had I would have told your mom not to go as well.”

  “So it was just a gut feeling.”

  She pressed her lips together while she thought of the proper response. “You don’t believe in gut feelings.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t believe in intuition, or spiritual promptings, but do you believe in gut feelings?”

  “More so.”

  “But not really?”

  He shrugged. “There’s some scientific evidence...”

  “Scientists don’t know everything, you know. Every question leads to another question. We think we’re so smart, but really, compared to God, we’re just—”

  “I’m done.” Declan clicked the fob to his dad’s Honda and opened the door. “I’m not a believer. I never will be. You have to get that.”

  “I wasn’t trying to convert you! I was just pointing out that there’s a whole universe of things we don’t understand!”

  “Right. You’re right. I’m beginning to see that you and I are probably not ever going to understand each other.” And with that, he got in the car, revved the engine, and pulled away.

  A starving man will eat with the wolf.

  CHAPTER 9

  Moonlight filtered through the tree’s thick canopy, casting shifting shadows on the forest floor. The night sounds hushed as creatures took shelter in fallen trees and hidey holes. Squirrels quivered on high branches. Foxes cowered in their dens. A lone bobcat found refuge in a fern grotto while the gray wolf silently stalked through the woods, searching for something or someone.

  Lizbet woke with a start, her heart hammering and her thoughts skittering between the two monsters preoccupying her thoughts: the wolf and Godwin. Could there be a connection?

  She sat up when a thought occurred to her. What if Godwin was the wolf?

  A werewolf.

  She didn’t believe in werewolves, monsters, or vampires.

  But then, most of the world didn’t believe humans could converse with animals and yet she did it every day. If she faulted Declan for being closed-minded about God, how could she be closed-minded about werewolves? But...come on. Werewolves? An image of a 1930s movie, Werewolf of London, flashed in her mind. She had watched it last Halloween with Elizabeth. They’d both laughed as Dr. Wilfred Glendon transformed from human to wolf, tearing off his clothes and howling at the moon.

  Lizbet glanced at the smiling moon outside her window. It reminded her of the grinning Cheshire Cat in the Alice in Wonderland movie. The full moon played a role in every werewolf legend she’d heard of. She mentally counted back the days to Gloria’s accident. Had it been a full moon? Was it possible a wolf had caused her accident? The police had determined another car hadn’t been involved, but could she have swerved to avoid hitting a wolf? There hadn’t been any animals around to witness the accident, and the only other time she knew of the animals disappearing was when the wolves had attacked Frank Forsythe.

  And why would the animals attack both Mr. Forsythe and his daughter? Obviously, the Forsythe family must have something the wolves want. But what?

  Lizbet threw back her comforter, crawled from her bed, and retrieved her laptop. Snuggling back against her pillows, she googled “full moon.”

  For centuries, pagans have believed a midsummer day holds a special power. Midsummer's Eve was believed to be a time when the veil between this world and the next is at its thinnest, and when fairies were thought to be at their most powerful. This year, the full moon and summer solstice will coincide with a rare strawberry moon.

  Despite the name, the moon does not appear pink or red, although it may glow a warm amber. The romantic label was coined by the Algonquin tribes of North America who believed June’s full moon signaled the beginning of the strawberry picking season.

  Because the sun rises higher, the moon sinks lower, forcing moonlight through denser, more humid air. This potent combination creates the amber color, also known as the honey moon.

  Thinking about honeymoons hurt, so she googled “werewolf.”

  The ancient werewolf legend predates written language and can be found all over the world in far-flung countries such as China, Iceland, Brazil, and Haiti. One of the first accounts comes from Greek literature when Zeus paid a visit to the Arcadian King, Lycaon. The king doubted Zeus’s omnipotence and sought to trick him. He killed Zeus’s son, Nyctimus, cooked up his flesh, and served it as the main dish at a banquet. Furious, Zeus resurrected his son before punishing Lycaon by turning him into a werewolf, and cursing him with a voracious hunger for human flesh.

  None of this made her feel any better. After turning off her computer, she lay back against her pillows, stared at the ceiling, and tried to piece together a strategy. She had exactly two weeks to come up with a plan to capture and destroy a werewolf.

  WITH THE THREE-HUNDRED dollars she’d borrowed from Elizabeth’s honey pot, Lizbet crossed the pasture that separated her grandmother’s ranch from the Hernandez’s property. The morning sun skimmed the tops of the trees. It was early, but she knew Matias and his family would be awake. The sheep called baa baa as she ducked through the fence surrounding the Hernandez farm. She found Matias outside the barn.

  He wore low-slung jeans, a pair of steel-toed boots, leather gloves, and not much else as he loaded lumber into the back of a pickup truck. He straightened when she called his name. His face registered surprise.

  “Good morning,” she said, biting her lip. “I’ve come to buy the motorbike you told me about.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded.

  He rocked back on his heels and studied her. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you don’t know how to drive it.”

  “But I’ve been on one. It didn’t seem hard.”

  “It’s dangerous. And you’re small.”

  Lizbet rose to her toes, realized what she was doing, and came back to earth. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You weigh like nothing. It takes a lot of strength of maneuver a bike.”

  “Didn’t you say you started riding it when you were a kid?”

  “Yeah, but I’m a guy.”

  “What difference does that make? Engines aren’t sexually exclusive! But from this conversation, I would say that you are.”

  Matias grinned. “I don’t think that means what you think it does.” He held up his hand to stop her outburst. “What I meant was, I probably outweighed you even when I was eight.”

  “So what?”

  “Look, I’ll give you the bike—”

  “You’ll sell me the bike.”

  “But not until I’m sure you won’t kill yourself on it first.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ll teach you how to ride it.”

  “Mmm, okay. When?”

  Matias frowned at his stack of lumber. “I have to check out the fences and make repairs.”

  “I can help.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. It’ll be faster and besides, it’ll prove to you I’m a lot stronger than I look.”

  But by the end of the day, Lizbet’s arms and legs ached so badly from toting and hammering railing, she could hardly balance the motorbike. It did
n’t help that Matias insisted on sitting behind her and he weighed a ton.

  “I really think this will be easier without you,” she complained as she straddled the bike.

  “Not a chance,” Matias said. “There’s no way I’m going to have to face your grandmother and tell her I watched you kill yourself on my motorbike.”

  “My motorbike.”

  “My motorbike. You haven’t earned it yet.”

  “Or paid for it.”

  “I’m not selling it to you.”

  “Then what am I doing here?” Lizbet moved to climb off.

  “I’m giving it to you—after I know you know how to drive it.”

  Lizbet sat back down.

  Matias put his hands beside hers on the handlebars. “This is how you shift.” He twisted the gear. “Do you know how to drive a car?”

  “It’s on my to-do list.”

  Matias blew out a sigh and it fanned Lizbet’s neck. “Okay, you start it first. When the engine revs you’ll see it on this monitor. But don’t try looking at it. You gotta keep your eyes on the road.”

  “That’s dumb. Why is it there if I’m not supposed to look at it?”

  “It’ll become instinctive. You’ll hear it. But until then, I’ll tell you when to change gears.”

  She twisted so she could see his face. “You believe in instinct, right?”

  “Sure. Everyone does.”

  “But not everyone believes in intuition.”

  “Most people do.”

  “Do you believe in God-given abilities?”

  “Sure.”

  “And God? Do you believe in God?”

  He looked a little taken aback, but he didn’t flinch. “Yes. I think everyone does. Even those who claim they don’t.”

  Smiling, she turned to face forward. “I agree with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you believe in werewolves?”

  He laughed. “No.”

  “Okay, me neither.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It’s just good to know.”

  She felt him laugh.

  “Can we get back to the riding lesson?” His breath tickled the back of her neck.

  “Of course,” she said as she turned the ignition and the bike roared to life.

  AFTER THREE DAYS OF lessons, Matias gave her the bike. It was rusty-red with a cracked leather seat and worn-out tires, but she loved it. The first place she drove it was Eastside General Hospital. After stopping by the florist in the lobby and picking up a bouquet of flowers, she asked for directions to Gloria’s room.

  Hospitals still made her sad and anxious, but she straightened her shoulders and made her way up the elevator and down the hall of the third floor.

  Gloria looked surprised to see her, but her expression softened when she saw the bouquet of flowers.

  Lizbet caught sight of the roses she’d brought earlier and her heart twisted. Things had been so different then between her and Declan. Or at least she’d thought they were. That day had been the beginning of the end for them and she hadn’t even seen it coming. Until then, she had thought—hoped—that she and Declan would always be together. Sure, she had known he was going to Duke, but she hadn’t thought that meant he was leaving her emotionally.

  “Lizbet!” Gloria brightened. “It’s so nice of you to come by!”

  It occurred to Lizbet that Gloria was lonely, despite all the bouquets of flowers on her windowsill.

  “I wanted to see how you are.” Lizbet came into the room, took a seat in a plastic chair beside the bed, and pulled off her backpack. Trying not to stare at Gloria’s bandaged hand, she unzipped the bag and pulled out a plastic container full of oatmeal cookies. “And my grandmother sent you these.”

  Gloria made to take them with her right hand, but then remembered and dropped her hand back to the bed and winced.

  “I’ll just put them here,” Lizbet said as she placed them on the bedside table. “Would you like one?”

  Gloria shook her head and looked defeated. “Not right now, but maybe later. I’m still learning how to feed myself with my left hand. It’s not pretty.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it soon.”

  “I’m too embarrassed to eat in front of anyone.”

  “Even Declan?”

  She nodded. “Even Declan. I’m sure he told you about the tomato soup incident.”

  “We’re not really speaking right now.”

  Gloria blinked in surprise. “He hasn’t told me that!”

  An awkward silence fell. After a moment, Lizbet said, “We’re just really different people.”

  “But that shouldn’t stop you from being together.” Gloria scooched up. “Listen, I’m not pretending to be an expert. I had two disastrous marriages and the second was worse than the first, which means that there better not be a third, because if it followed suit, it would be a doozy.” Her attention wandered to the flowers on the sill, making Lizbet itch with curiosity to know who had sent what. “But I do know that Declan cares for you.”

  “And I care for him, but that’s not why I’m here.” She inched forward. “Did Declan tell you that I made him promise me that he wouldn’t go to the powwow?”

  “No, he didn’t. What’s that about?”

  “It was a gut feeling. I can’t explain it, but I just knew something bad would happen if he went. Then you took his truck and...” She waved at the hospital bed. “It’s sort of freaked me out.”

  Gloria looked pale and shaken. “I can understand that,” she said in a quiet voice. “What sort of bad feeling?”

  “Call it premonition or a prompting...” She picked at a loose thread on her sweater for a moment before looking up with a sad smile. “Turns out, Declan doesn’t believe in that sort of thing.”

  “No,” Gloria said slowly, “but I’m glad he listened to you.”

  “You are?”

  “Of course. I would much rather lose a hand than a son.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Urgency rang through Lizbet’s voice. “I’m dying to know.”

  “Some sort of animal jumped in front of the car.”

  “Like a cow?”

  “No. It was like a dog, but bigger. It reminded me of The Hound of the Baskervilles. Are you familiar with Sherlock Holmes?”

  “Somewhat. Are you sure it wasn’t a wolf?”

  Gloria dropped her voice to a whisper. “It could have been a wolf, but that sounds crazy, right? I mean, a wolf killed my father and his nurse! I’m afraid if I claimed that a wolf ran me off the road, people wouldn’t believe me. Does it make sense that wolves are out to destroy the Forsythe family?”

  It might not make sense to everyone else, but it made perfect sense to Lizbet.

  HER NEXT STOP WAS THE University of Washington. She had an appointment with Dr. Madison, a professor of legends and mythology. Her legs and arms still felt wobbly from all the motorbike lessons and fence repairing as she climbed the four flights to his office.

  She glanced through the ajar door. A large desk covered with haphazardly stacked papers sat in front of the window. Jammed-full bookshelves lined the walls.

  A girl with a diamond stud in her nose and an armful of papers walked past. “If you want to wait for Dr. Mad, I’m sure he’ll be right back. According to his schedule, his office hours should have started fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I have an appointment,” Lizbet said.

  “Yeah, but Dr. Mad doesn’t run on people time. He lives by his own internal clock.”

  “I can wait,” Lizbet said.

  The girl cocked her head, trying to read Lizbet. “Are you a student? I don’t remember seeing you around the Humanities building.”

  “No. Well, yes. I guess I’m a student of life, but I’m not attending the University of Washington.”

  The girl laughed. “Good answer. I think Dr. Mad will love you.”

  “He won’t think I’m wasting his time? Because I’m not a stude
nt?”

  “But you just said you are. You’re a student of life!” And with that, the girl turned and left, leaving Lizbet alone in Dr. Mad’s office.

  She wandered over to the shelves. Vampire Vanities, Ghosts of Chance, and Paranormal Paradigms were just some of the books on the shelves. Mingled among the books were alien-looking tools and devices, wooden puzzles, and propped-up photographs, mostly of a middle-aged woman with weather-beaten skin and gray-streaked blond hair who wore an ever-present pair of binoculars strung around her neck.

  “Hallo there!”

  Lizbet twisted to see a small man with a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose. He dressed like a living, breathing professor cliché with a beige sweater with leather patches on the elbows over a burgundy flannel shirt, navy corduroy pants, and a pair of loafers. He regarded Lizbet. “Casey tells me you are a student of life?”

  “Well, yes.”

  He moved around the desk, settled into his chair and waved at Lizbet to take a seat. “What exactly does that mean?”

  Lizbet sat on the edge of the upholstered chair. “It means I have some questions about werewolves.”

  Dr. Madison’s fingers formed a steeple. “Is that so? Why?”

  She hadn’t been expecting that question. “My grandmother has a ranch, and well, it wasn’t that long ago when wolves used to be a problem around here, right?”

  He pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “You’re curious about the Forsythe murder, aren’t you?”

  She sat back, surprised. “I haven’t heard it called that.”

  “What, murder?”

  She nodded.

  “Does that term offend you?”

  “No, I’m just surprised. I guess I thought that animals attacked and only humans could murder.”

  “Ah. Interesting semantics—is it not?” He found a rare empty spot on the desk and drummed his fingers. “You’re saying that animals are incapable of murder because they have no forethought. Therefore, they attack. Only people, who are scheming and sly, can premeditate murder.”

  “I don’t think that’s what I was saying...” She knew for a fact that many animals could scheme and plot as well, if not better, than some humans. She scooted back to the edge of her seat. “You teach mythology, right?”