by Kristy Tate
Everyone began calling the dog. McNally and Carly emerged from behind a fallen tree.
“What’s going on?” McNally asked.
“Tickles is gone,” Hailey told him.
“You brought your dog?” McNally asked Baxter.
“No, he just showed up,” Baxter said.
“Maybe he went home,” Hailey suggested hopefully.
A howl tore through the night, silencing the group.
“The wolves,” Matias said in a hushed breath.
“Wolf,” Lizbet corrected him. “Just one, I think.”
“They usually travel in packs, though, right?” Maria asked.
Lizbet nodded, taking note of Declan’s suddenly pale face.
“Tickles!” Panic filled Baxter’s voice, and he took off after the howling. Declan, Nicole, Hailey, and Nicole followed while Matias, Maria, and Lizbet hung back.
“Will the wolves hurt the dog?” Matias whispered to Lizbet.
“Maybe,” she whispered back. “They have to eat.”
“Let’s go home,” Matias urged. “We wanted to find the wolves and we have.”
Maria nodded in agreement.
“But I want to see if it’s the same one I saw outside Declan’s grandfather’s house.” Lizbet bit her lip, considering. Worry tightened her belly. Thinking about Tickles at the mercy of the wolves made her sick. “Do you guys want to stay here while I go and look?”
“Let’s stay together,” Matias said, linking his arm through hers. Maria took her hand and squeezed it.
“Did it hurt to see him with her?” Maria whispered.
Lizbet shrugged. Yes, but she told herself her own petty jealousies were insignificant compared to Tickles’ safety.
“Forget him,” Matias said, pulling her a smidge closer.
WEEKS SLID BY AND DECLAN made no effort to contact Lizbet. She learned from Maria that Tickles had returned to Baxter’s house, healthy and happy, the night they’d met up in the woods. Still, Lizbet began auditing Professor Madison’s Wednesday night mythology class.
They met in an auditorium built for hundreds, but less than twenty students filled the seats. Intimidated, Lizbet chose a place in the back near the door. Professor Madison spotted her and winked. She gave him a small wave and her full attention.
He spoke without looking at his notes or the stack of books he placed on the podium. “As we discussed last week, in Greek mythology, Lycaon was a king of Arcadia, son of Pelasgus and Meliboea, who, in the most popular version of the myth, tested Zeus by serving him the roasted flesh of Nyctimus, in order to see whether Zeus was truly omniscient. In return for these gruesome deeds, Zeus transformed Lycaon and his fifty sons into the forms of wolves.
“Now, what do we know about wolves? They’re strong. Their senses are much keener than humans. Their society is more tightly knit than ours. They mate for life.” He chuckled. “There are many wolfish characteristics that we humans should try and emulate.
“Trying to catch a wolf in any kind of trap would be a foolish waste of time. A wolf is one of the most vicious and bloodthirsty animals. Often, they simply kill as much as is possible, regardless of hunger and appetite. Then the wolf pack can tear the prey apart and eat at their own will. Although savage, wolves are among some of the world’s smartest and most perceptive mammals. They are found all over the world, and on almost every major continent of the Earth. This, perhaps, in part would explain why the werewolf legend is so pervasive.
“But does it really?”
LIZBET LEFT THE CLASS in a daze. Her thoughts spun as she headed for the ranch, imagining wolves behind every tree. Lizbet rolled the motorbike down the drive, but nearly lost her balance when she spotted John’s Honda parked beside her mom’s Jeep. There had been a time when Declan and John shared the Honda, but that was before Gloria’s accident. Lately, she’d spotted Declan driving his mom’s large golden Mercedes. Once, he had complained that it made him feel like a real estate agent, to which his mom had quipped, “And that’s a good thing, right?”
Declan had told Lizbet he didn’t think it was a good thing. But Lizbet guessed that since his mom could no longer drive and his own truck was no longer drivable, it made sense for him to tool around in a Mercedes that looked as if it was designed for home buyers and sellers. She wondered if it still bothered him. It bothered her that she didn’t know how or what he was feeling.
Lizbet puttered the bike into the barn, parked it, slipped off her helmet, and greeted the horses in their stalls. “Is John here?” she asked Trotter after petting his silky nose.
Trotter nodded and twitched his tail.
“Anyone know why?” Lizbet asked, her gaze traveling from the horses to the goats milling about in their pen. They tended to be more intelligent than the horses, but also more self-centered so less likely to take note of something that didn’t involve their own dinners. But all the animals thrived on gossip and Lizbet relied on that.
The horses nickered and the goats bleated, but no one really told her anything.
“So...no one’s with him?” she persisted.
“Your mom,” Sally the goat told her.
The tension in Lizbet’s neck eased as she stroked the animals, complimented them on their good behavior, and wished them all a good night.
An amber-colored moon hovered over the tops of the distant trees. A honey moon. Professor Madison had explained that the term “honeymoon” dates back to the fifth century, when the moon cycles marked time. Back then, a newlywed couple drank mead, a honey-based alcoholic drink believed to have aphrodisiac properties, during their first moon of marriage.
Lizbet watched her mom and John through the kitchen window. Their laughter floated through the glass separating them from Lizbet. Although they both wore aprons and their hands were sticky with dough, John looked like he’d been sprinkled with flour. It dusted his hair, his jaw, and his clothes.
He said something and Daugherty responded by bumping him with her shoulder. Lizbet couldn’t see their faces, but she knew they were smiling. She also knew they belonged together.
And what would that mean for her? Would Declan be a part of family gatherings? Would she have to sit across from his future wife at the Thanksgiving table? Would she watch his children scramble for presents under a Christmas tree? Maybe someday she’d be okay with that thought, but not tonight. She couldn’t chit-chat with John and pretend that her heart didn’t ache for Declan.
She walked as quietly as she could to the front, padded up the porch, and tried the door. Locked.
She glanced at the giant maple tree beside her grandmother’s house. The branches brushed alongside an upstairs bathroom window. Without giving it any more thought, she swung up into the tree. She had only reached the third branch when the call of crows stopped her.
“Death! Death!” they screeched.
Lizbet hugged the tree to keep from falling. “Whose?” she asked.
“Sheep! Sheep!”
Lizbet’s thoughts flashed to the few sheep on her grandmother’s farm. Chet, fluffy and white, Charleen, dusty black, and tiny Chuckie, the not-quite-white lamb with a black nose.
“Neighboring farm,” a crow cawed.
Lizbet blew out a sigh of relief but then felt immediately guilty. She scrambled out of the tree, skinning her arms and legs in her haste. “What happened?” she asked.
But before the birds could answer, Elizabeth banged out the door, followed by John and Daugherty. They all began running for the barn. No one noticed her beneath the tree.
“What happened?” she repeated in a harsh whisper.
But the birds had flown away.
Lizbet took off. She caught up to her grandmother first. “What’s going on?” she asked through panted breaths.
“We have to get all of the animals into the barn and batten the hatches,” Elizabeth said as she slid a bolt through the barn’s double doors.
“I think most of the animals are already in the barn for the night,” Lizbet said.
> “We have to make sure!” Elizabeth huffed, leaned against the barn, and placed a hand on her heart. “Getting old isn’t for softies!”
“Neither is running a ranch,” Lizbet said. “Are you okay?” She looped her arm around her grandmother’s waist.
“I’m fine! I’m not the one we need to worry about!” Elizabeth said. “I’ll go right and you go left.”
“John and Mom are already circling the barn,” Lizbet said. “Why don’t you stay here—”
“I’m not a sissy!” Elizabeth tried to walk, but staggered.
Lizbet guided her to a bench and helped her sit. “Just tell me what happened.”
“It was the wolves...” Elizabeth gasped, clutching at her shirt near her heart.
“Where? Here?” Lizbet glanced up at the amber-colored moon hanging in the sky.
“At the Hernandez’s.” Elizabeth doubled over and put her head between her knees.
“Did you talk to Perez?”
“Matias.”
John and her mom jogged around opposite corners of the barn. Her mom reached them first. John had his phone pressed against his ear.
“Come as soon as you can,” he said, before returning his phone to his pocket.
Lizbet wanted to ask who he was talking to, but couldn’t make herself say the words.
John answered her unspoken question. “Declan’s friend, Baxter, has a drone. He’s bringing it over. Although we might not be able to see the wolves in the dark.”
Lizbet peered into the forest. Something moved in the shadows. She started after it. John placed a warning hand on her arm, stopping her.
“You can’t go in there,” he said.
“But—”
“He’s right,” Daugherty said.
“It’s much too dangerous,” Elizabeth said.
“They won’t hurt me.”
“I’m sure that’s what Declan’s grandfather thought, too,” Daugherty said.
Lizbet clenched her jaw and dropped onto the bench beside her grandmother. “We have to do something.”
“We have. All of our animals are accounted for and locked up in the barn, except for the chickens in their coop,” her mom said. “Everyone is safe in their beds. I suggest we do the same.” She pulled on Elizabeth’s arm. “Come on, Mom. Let’s go to bed.”
“I can’t go to bed!” Elizabeth refused to budge. “How could I sleep knowing my animals are in danger?”
“I can sleep in the barn with the animals,” Lizbet said.
Before anyone could shoot her suggestion down, Declan’s mom’s car pulled down the drive.
“Okay, you.” Daugherty pulled on her mother’s hand. “Reinforcements have arrived. We women-folk can go to bed.”
“Shame on you, Daugherty Westmoor!” Elizabeth shook off her daughter’s grip. “I didn’t raise you to be such a pantywaist.”
Lizbet lost all interest in her grandmother and mom’s argument when Declan climbed out of the car. He had a contraption tucked under his arm as he strode their way. Moonlight touched his hair.
“Come on, Grandma,” Lizbet pleaded, urgency touching her voice. “There’s nothing we can do out here.” She was concerned for her grandmother, of course, but she also didn’t think she could be around Declan and pretend her heart wasn’t bleeding. She longed to go back to the way they had been before the argument, before the accident, before everything became stilted and strange.
“GRANDMA, LET ME MAKE you some tea,” Lizbet said as she helped Elizabeth into the house.
“Stop fussing over me like I’m an old lady!” Elizabeth huffed and plopped down on the bench in the mudroom. She fumbled with the ties on her boots.
Lizbet stood, watching, her fingers itching to help, but holding her tongue. After a few indecisive moments, she went into the kitchen, pulled out some mugs, and filled the kettle with water.
A buzzing noise filled the air.
“What’s that?” Elizabeth barked.
Lizbet glanced into the mudroom and noticed that Elizabeth had made little headway on her bootlaces. “That must be Baxter’s drone.”
“Baxter? Baxter who?”
Lizbet tried to tell herself that Elizabeth was angry and frustrated by her own aging body and mind—and not being intentionally cranky and mean. “Baxter is Declan’s friend.”
“I don’t really see what good that thing can do. It’s not as if wolves can’t move.”
She had a point. “What do you think we should do?” Lizbet stood by the stove, waiting for the kettle to sing.
Elizabeth, finally free of her boots, padded into the kitchen in her stocking feet and took a chair at the table. Her gray hair was Einsteinesque. Fatigue etched her wrinkled face.
Her mom would want Elizabeth to go to bed, but Lizbet suspected Elizabeth wouldn’t be able to sleep. “Would you like me to make some cookies?”
“What good will that do?” Elizabeth snapped.
“Cookies can never hurt. Cookies are harmless.” Lizbet pulled out the flour canister and set it on the counter before selecting the vanilla, cinnamon, and molasses from the cupboard.
“Tell that to a diabetic,” Elizabeth grumbled.
Lizbet pressed her lips together, pulled her shoulders back, and got the eggs and butter from the fridge. She wondered when and if Declan would come in and if he’d notice that she was making his favorite cookies.
DAUGHERTY AND JOHN pressed through the dark woods while Declan followed. Wind whipped through the trees and the branches moaned in complaint. Clouds hurried through the sky as if they were late for somewhere they had to be—somewhere important.
John and Daugherty both carried guns. Declan did not, because, as his dad had said, Declan didn’t know how to use one. Declan suspected that the same could be said of his dad, but he didn’t point this out. He would much rather follow the drone and watch the screen on the controller than accidentally shoot his own foot. Or someone else.
He guided the drone slightly above the tree’s canopy, searching for movement on the ground. The gray wolves would blend into the night’s shadows. The trees dancing in the wind complicated their search. His hopes were low.
He wished Lizbet were with them.
“What’s that?” Daugherty’s whisper came out as a hiss. She used the rifle as a pointer.
Declan didn’t see anything unusual, but his dad must have. He jogged forward and plucked something shiny out of the dirt.
“It’s a dog collar,” John said, turning it in his hands and reading the tag. “Tickles. Isn’t that Baxter’s dog?”
Declan nodded. “He got lost in the woods a few weeks ago, but he came home the next morning.”
John tossed Declan the collar. Declan caught it and slipped it into his pocket without looking at it.
The woods gave way to a moonlit valley. On the drone controller screen, Declan saw a tall and rangy creature emerge from the woods. He froze, staring.
“What is it?” John asked.
“I’m not sure,” Declan said slowly.
His dad and Daugherty came to watch the screen.
“It looks like a giant dog,” Declan said, “but definitely not a wolf.”
“I’ve never seen a dog like that,” Daugherty whispered.
John took the controller from Declan and tried looking at it from different angles. Above them, the drone dipped and zigzagged. Declan grabbed it back. “Dad! You’re going to crash it!” He steadied it.
“Sorry, I thought the drone could be distorting the image.”
“We have to see it for ourselves,” Daugherty whispered.
John nodded, and crept toward the clearing, his gun raised.
We are made from Mother Earth and we go back to Mother Earth. – Shenandoah
CHAPTER 13
The next morning, before anyone else woke, Lizbet tiptoed into the kitchen and poked through the trash, looking for targets. She gathered a collection of tin cans and empty bottles, placed them in a paper bag, and headed outside. The warm summer air hit
Lizbet when she opened the back door. The wind had swept the sky cloud-free, leaving the morning bright and clear. Leaves and branches lay scattered over the yard and driveway and, still wearing pajamas, Lizbet picked her way through the fallen bracken to the barn, where she took care of the animals, filling the feeders and opening the gates.
She murmured to the horses as she weaved between them, their gentle manners and bulk reassuring her. The goats, with their cold noses bumping against her bare thighs, pressed against her in their hurry for freedom from the stall. This is real life, she told herself, although she had learned not too long ago that reality could shift dramatically.
After the animals were cared for, Lizbet lined up the cans on the split-rail fence and took forty paces back. The horses nickered a greeting; she felt the curious gazes of the goats. She cocked and shouldered the gun. First the bottles. Watching them explode into silvery dust, she felt only a little better. The cans, even though they didn’t shatter, made a satisfactory tinging sound when hit. The horses pranced around the corral, bucking, kicking and complaining about the noise reverberating through the valley.
Today, she determined as she reloaded and cocked the gun, she would find answers.
“Can you teach me how to do that?” a voice said directly behind her.
She started, whirled around, and pointed the gun at Declan’s chest.
It took a few seconds for her heart to slow.
Declan grinned, placed his hand on the barrel of the gun, and lowered it.
“Sorry,” she said with a slow exhale. “You scared me.”
“Same here,” he said.
“You want to learn how to shoot?”
He nodded. “I’d ask my dad to teach me, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know anything more than me, even though he was acting all ballsy for your mom last night.”
“My mom said you saw a creature but it wasn’t a wolf.”
“It did not look like any wolf I’ve ever seen.”
“So, what did it look like?”
He paused. “This will sound crazy. It looked like a giant Tickles.”