“Damn, I miss you, Tato.”
Nika’s father had been dead for several years, but she felt his presence in that shop. He hadn’t left yet. She was sure of it. He couldn’t let go for some reason, and she had an inkling it was because of her.
“I’m okay. Really.” But she didn’t believe it. Certainly, her father who’d passed to that in-between place didn’t believe it either. “I will be okay. I promise.”
“You’re not going to be okay if you keep talking to empty shops.” Carrie Pine, one of the seventeen-year old employees at Maple Ridge meandered down the center aisle and stopped next to Nika. She pulled her long blonde hair onto one shoulder and surveyed the bookshelves with narrowed blue eyes. She pointed to the upper right corner of the shelves. “You missed a spot.”
Nika squinted at the space Carrie had indicated, and sure enough, a dusty cobweb bounced in the cool breeze coming from the air conditioning vent. She pushed the feather duster into Carrie’s stomach, a small cloud of dust leaving a gray spot on the teenager’s green Maple Ridge T-shirt. “Be a pal and get that for me, will you?”
Carrie closed her fingers around the duster and frowned. “This is what I get for pointing out your inadequacies.”
“Exactly.” Nika fluffed the folds of her long, flowered skirt and brushed a smear of dust off her turquoise tank top. “Where’s Zavier?”
Carrie shrugged as she took care of the rogue cobweb. “Haven’t seen him yet. I just got here.”
Zavier Russo was Nika’s other seventeen-year-old employee. He and Carrie attended Canville High together and had answered the trading post’s help wanted ad on the same day two years ago. They were both so adorable when they interviewed, each of them stunned by the other’s presence and awkward as they stole shy glances at one another. Nika had offered them both a job—not able to afford paying them much, but convincing them the work experience would look good on college applications. They worked opposite shifts, but there was usually a thirty-minute overlap Nika enjoyed watching.
Maybe someday—someday soon—those two would admit they were made for each other and finally go on a date. For now, they appeared to be content pretending to not be interested in one another while flirting every chance they got.
Nika missed those carefree high school days when the biggest problem she faced was which cute boy to flirt with during Algebra class. If she’d known those four years were to be her dating peak, she would have spent more time enjoying herself. Someone should have taken her aside and explained how it would be once she got out into the “real world.”
Listen, Nika. Have fun now. Dance with every boy you can. Enjoy the chase. Let your heart beat excitedly. Kiss and be kissed. A lot. Once you grow up, things will different. You won’t have time for dancing, chasing, kissing. You’ll be too busy trying to survive.
Nika doubted she would have listened to anyone who had taken her aside and told her any of this. When you’re a teenager, everything seems possible. When you’re a grownup—one whose trading post isn’t making any money—everything seems like a giant noose around your neck. One misstep off the rickety wooden stool beneath your feet and crack. Neck broken. Last breath. Life over.
“Wow.” Carrie stared at her, twirling the feather duster so the hot pink feathers fluffed out then settled, fluffed, settled, fluffed, settled.
Nika was nearly hypnotized by the movement then she shook her head and looked at Carrie. “Wow what?”
“That was one powerful sigh you unleashed, Boss.” Carrie angled her head as she chewed on her bottom lip. “Things aren’t getting better around here, are they?”
Nika arced a hand out to the empty shop behind them. “I think the tumbleweed blowing in the aisles answers that question, don’t you?” Her voice was harsher than she’d meant it to be. It wasn’t Carrie’s fault business sucked. “I’m sorry, Carrie. I’m in a mood.”
Carrie set the feather duster down on a beautiful log table, handmade by a local Native American craftsman. The shop had a few of his pieces, but hardly anyone came in to appreciate—and buy—such solidly constructed and artistic furniture. “You know what cures bad moods, don’t you?”
“I do, but you don’t have to.” Nika smiled as Carrie ran off to a corner of the trading post. “Carrie, seriously.”
“You know you’ll feel better!” Carrie called.
By the time Carrie came back with a puppet on each hand, Nika couldn’t deny she needed this.
“Which one do you want to be?” Carrie wiggled Red Riding Hood on her left hand and Big Bad Wolf on her right.
Nika reached forward and plucked the wolf off Carrie’s hand. “You know I’m always the wolf.” The trading post held a show once a day that did in fact draw in a small group. It was an alternate Little Red Riding Hood story in which Wolfman terrorizes not only Red, but the audience too. Somewhere between scary and cheesy, the show pleased onlookers and brought in enough money to stay open.
For the next three months anyway… maybe.
Jared Greene who played Wolfman was awesome. The right amount of grizzly and growly to make audiences squeal and laugh, Jared was Nika’s only money maker right now. She needed him and the other two actors who played Red and Huntsman in the show, though those two weren’t what attracted viewers. The sales she had on show tickets and puppets resembling characters in the show kept her head above water.
Barely.
“I hold out hope that one day you’ll let me be the wolf,” Carrie said.
“Keep dreaming, kid.”
Carrie laughed, then relaxing her facial expression, she moved the Red Riding Hood puppet and said, “Why, I do declare, Mr. Big Bad Wolf, you are lookin’ fine this afternoon.”
For some reason Red had a southern accent this time, and Nika barked out a laugh. This was what made this so fun. She never knew what accent Carrie would pull out. The kid was a master at so many.
“So we’re going deep south today, are we?” Nika shoved her hand into the wolf puppet and smoothed the gray fur between its ears.
“Appears so, Miss Nika.” Carrie made the Red Riding Hood puppet grab its long brown braid and roll it between its hands as if preening.
Nodding, Nika cleared her throat and made the wolf puppet raise its furry head as if sniffing the air. “Somethin’ smells powerful good ’round here.” Her voice was deep and heavy with southern drawl. She had to fight not to laugh. “Right good enough to eat I’d say.”
“That’s no way to be speakin’ to a lady, Mr. Big Bad Wolf.” Red’s puppet arms stretched out to her sides in exasperation.
“Ain’t seen no ladies here. Just meals.” Nika opened the jaws of the wolf puppet, her finger manipulating the long, pink tongue so it licked the puppet’s lips.
Carrie opened her mouth and bobbled Red’s hooded head, but a voice interrupted her puppet’s next lines.
“Meals? Did someone say meals? I’m hungry. I’m always hungry.”
Nika and Carrie turned around to find the Huntsman puppet sitting atop a display of hand-carved boxes painted to depict local natural settings. Zavier’s face was visible from the other side of the aisle, a grin stretching across his face as he stared pointedly at Carrie.
Hungry. That boy was more than hungry for Carrie. Nika could see it in his green eyes.
“It’s a southern accent today, Zavier.” Carrie’s hands went to her hips, taking Red Riding Hood with her. The puppet’s head was smooshed against her side and Zavier’s eyes tracked the movement to her hips. “If you’re not going to do the right accent, you can’t play.”
She took the wolf puppet from Nika, slipped it on her free hand, and closed its jaws over the Huntsman puppet’s head, ripping it down from the boxes.
Zavier made a muffled screaming noise that made Nika chuckle, but Carrie ignored him and walked away with all three puppets.
“She mad at you today?” Nika asked.
Carrie had quite a bit of sass—which Nika loved about her—but she usually wasn’t so bitchy to Zav
ier. Most of the time she was watching him—not so secretly—with a dreamy, faraway look in her blue eyes. She definitely wasn’t doing dreamy today.
The boy shrugged one shoulder and straightened the boxes the Huntsman puppet had been perched on. “It’s possible Carrie may have seen me with Amanda Tiller last night.”
Nika winced. Rivalry. “I see.”
“Now you’re going to be mad at me too?” Zavier dropped his forehead to the boxes and rocked his head from side to side.
Nika stepped close enough that she could pat the crown of Zavier’s head. “I’m not mad at you, honey, but when are you and Carrie going to admit you like each other? I mean, you’ve been working here all this time together, you go to school together, you hang out… I don’t get it.”
“It’s complicated.” The boy let out a low groan as if his very soul hurt. So dramatic.
“Things with teenagers usually are complicated.” Nika gave Zavier’s head a gentle slap. “What’s Amanda Tiller have that Carrie doesn’t?”
“Amanda has a father who thinks I’m good enough for her.”
Hmm. “Carrie’s dad doesn’t like you?” This was news to Nika. She knew Carrie’s father. Strict, military type, but he’d always been cordial to Nika. Was it possible he was ultra-particular about who his little girl fell for? Nika smiled thinking of Tato. He always disapproved of her boyfriends when she was a teenager, but he had the good sense to keep mum about it.
Zavier picked his head up off the boxes and shook it. “I don’t even know why her father doesn’t like me. He gives me this steely-eyed glare and a frown every time I’m in his presence. You know he’s Special Forces, right? A sniper.” Zavier swallowed loudly.
“Have you talked to Carrie about this?”
“Talked to her about it? Shit no. But she knows he doesn’t like me.”
“Okay then.” Nika puffed out a breath, deciding Zavier was right. It was complicated. And none of her business. She had enough to worry about without getting involved in the love lives of young adults.
“I’m leaving!” Carrie called from the front door of the trading post. “See you tomorrow, Nika.”
“Bye, sweetie.” Nika gave Zavier a quick glance. The boy hadn’t moved from where he stood in the aisle. “She didn’t say bye to you.”
“Because I’m an asshole.”
“You are not.”
“Carrie thinks so.”
“Then change her mind, Huntsman.”
Nika walked to the small office at the rear of the trading post and sat at her desk, confident Zavier would handle the non-existent hordes of customers. She leaned back in her chair. Why was it so obvious to her what Zavier and Carrie had to do to be together, but when it came to herself and relationships, she didn’t have a goddamn clue?
Probably because I haven’t had a goddamn prospect in ages.
There were dating dry spells. And then there was whatever Nika was going through. A dating famine, perhaps. One of epic proportions. Of course, in order to date, a person had to actually have some free time. And some money. Nika certainly didn’t have any extra time hanging about and as for money, that well would soon be dry too.
She folded her arms on top of her desk—Tato’s desk actually—and rested her head atop them. If she squeezed her eyes closed, she could imagine away the stacks of bills littering the desktop. If she never opened her eyes, maybe she could imagine a completely different life.
One where Maple Ridge Trading Post was a tourist hot spot again.
One where Tato was still alive and giving out smiles to every customer he met.
One where she had a fabulously sexy man to come home to every night who would make love to her as if it were his sole purpose in life.
A sharp knock sounded on the office door followed by, “Nika. You can’t keep ignoring me.”
One where Robert Senclair didn’t want to turn Maple Ridge Trading Post into a foolish Mr. Sprinkles Donut Shop.
“I’m pretty sure I can keep ignoring you, Robert.” She would not be opening the door for him. She didn’t have that brand of patience in stock today.
“At what cost, Nika? I just walked through the trading post and the only person I ran across was your employee. Your employee who is currently sitting at the register reading The Canterbury Tales, for Christ’s sake.”
“He’s adding a little literary culture to our atmosphere at Maple Ridge Trading Post. Zavier is all part of my genius marketing plan to draw in sophisticated, big-spending clientele.”
“Bullshit.”
Nothing grated on Nika’s nerves like Robert Senclair’s voice. She’d known him since elementary school. He’d been a jerk in Kindergarten when he’d destroyed her finger-painted masterpiece—one she’d planned to give Tato for his birthday—and hadn’t changed.
Well, maybe he’d gotten taller and his hair had thinned, but other than that he was the same asswaffle at thirty-five years old that he was at six.
“I’m busy, Robert,” she called. “I’ve got to meet with Jared about some Wolfman costume modifications. I’ve got—”
“No, you don’t,” Robert interrupted.
“No, I don’t what? Have a meeting? Yes, I do. And who do you think—”
“Jared is in jail.”
The four words punched her in the face. Not enough to knock her out though.
Unfortunately.
Chapter Two
Jaemus grabbed a handful of soil in this new forest surrounding him. Night still reigned, but the sounds were all different from where he’d been. Cricket song replaced the twitterings of the brightly colored birds of the tropical isle he’d been surviving on for the past few weeks. Tall pines and maples ruled the land instead of the odd, feather-leafed trees that rustled in the hot breezes. The cooler air here was scented with damp dirt and wildflowers.
Where am I now?
And what was Flidae up to? Why had she moved him? Had he been surviving too well on that island? Was he not being sufficiently punished in the goddess’s mind? He didn’t love that island, but he’d had enough time there to figure it out and stay alive.
Now he was back to the beginning in an unknown place with unknown resources and unknown dangers. Would she keep switching his location as further punishment?
And, by the gods, why am I bleeding?
He touched the scratches on his bare arms and legs then squinted up. Several branches on the nearby trees had been snapped. Perhaps broken when his body had screamed from the sky and landed on the moist forest floor. He turned to sit and brushed dirt off his knees which, due to his nakedness, were also gouged and bleeding.
At least he’d learned on the island that he did have the healing abilities of a werewolf. He just hadn’t been patient that first night. The cut he’d received on his cheek while the sea had battered him had healed. He ran a finger over the area now, feeling the scar that would forever cut through any beard he grew. He had no idea how bad it looked, but what did it matter anyway? He wasn’t trying to impress anyone.
Well, except Flidae maybe so she’d release him from this punishment.
What you look like will not release you, warrior wolf.
He was beginning to hate these conversations. Especially when she called him a wolf. Gods be damned, he was a man first.
But you are not only a man now.
As if he needed the reminder.
Voices floated to his ears in the darkness. Two voices. A man’s and a woman’s. At first Jaemus thought they were the voices of more gods or goddesses, but no, these voices were not inside his head.
Praise be! There were people here. Jaemus had to make contact with these people. Implore them for some help. Beg if he had to. His pride had been taken the moment Reardon turned him into an animal. He had nothing left to lose.
Slowly, Jaemus got to his feet and walked toward a light that shone on a building nearby. As he approached, the people’s voices got louder.
“You know the best way to celebrate freedom on the Fourth
of July?” the woman asked.
The man didn’t reply verbally, but Jaemus was close enough now to see the man shake his head as he held the woman close. So close. Jaemus hadn’t held a woman that close in too long. Possibly he’d never held a woman that close and meant it the way that man did.
“Exercising your right to kiss me all over and make love to me until the sun comes up.”
The man threw his head back and laughed. “I think I like this American holiday, my fairy lass.”
Jaemus stilled at the fringe of the forest. He knew that voice. He took a shaky step back, but the crunching of twigs and leaves beneath his bare feet made the man and woman turn to look in his direction.
“Probably one of the wolves,” the woman said. She was breathtaking with long red hair and blue eyes Jaemus could clearly see with his enhanced wolf vision.
The man started for the forest, so Jaemus stepped out first. “Reardon.” He took another step, but got tangled in the brush at his feet and tripped. He fell to all fours, cursing how weak he felt, how submissive he looked, basically kneeling before Reardon. That was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Jaemus?”
“Your brother?” the woman asked as she stood behind Reardon.
“Aye. It’s him.” Reardon straightened and scanned the area.
“She’s not here,” Jaemus croaked out. His throat was impossibly dry all of a sudden.
“But she sent you.” Smiling, Reardon reached out a hand to Jaemus. “Come inside, brother.”
Jaemus stared at Reardon’s outstretched hand. Part of him wanted to take it. Part of him wished for his older brother to care for and protect him as he had for most of Jaemus’s life.
Another part, however, wished for a blade to slice that offered hand right off the arm of the betrayer.
“You can have all the time you want to hate me, Jaemus,” Reardon said, his hand still outstretched, “but right now, you’re in tough shape, brother. This fairy lass beside me can fix you up, can’t you, Brandy?”
Wolf Fire Page 2