Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1)

by Angel Lawson

  "Grant, I know you're not gay. Olivia told me."

  He gaped. Only for a second, but I saw it.

  Fueled by anger and the fact I had caught him, I shouted, "What the fuck, Grant? You're not gay? Who says they're gay when it's not true?"

  Not waiting for an answer, I downed the rest of my wine and slammed the glass on the table, surprised it didn't break. I stood up and walked into the living room and settled into the couch. I pulled the blanket off the back and draped it across my legs. Closing my eyes, I hoped that when I opened them he would be gone.

  I waited for some time, listening to the quiet of the apartment, thinking about what he had done. I was stunned and I tried to remember what Olivia told me about Grant and his need for barriers. I had promised her I would remain his friend and I would, but it would take some time for me to trust him.

  Minutes passed and I opened my eyes. "Holy mother of—“ I shouted as my regained use of my lungs. Grant was sitting next to the couch, on the floor, staring at me.

  I ran my hand over my face and sat up on the couch. "What are you doing here?"

  He shrugged and said, "I never left."

  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes again thinking that maybe this time he would leave. I opened one eye and looked out.

  Nope. Still there.

  "I'm sorry I lied to you," he said in the quietest voice.

  "I'm sorry you lied to me, too." I spat back.

  "I promise I won't do it again. No matter what, from now on I will always be truthful." He did that trick, the one with his eyes, where I forgot my name.

  "Why did you do it, Grant?"

  I thought he would hedge again but instead he moved, kneeling so close I could feel his cool breath across my cheek. The feeling was amazingly familiar and I reached up to rub the spot.

  "I did it because in my entire life, I've never known anyone like you. And I was afraid that if you got to know the real me you wouldn't want to work for me anymore and you wouldn't want to be my friend." He looked down at his hands, giving me a view of the top of his thick, glorious hair.

  I reached out to lift his chin so I could see him better. He flinched away from my touch, a look of pain crossing his face. My hand hung in the air for a second, feeling an ebb of electricity, before I returned it to my lap.

  "Grant, I promise that I will always be your friend and there is nothing more that I want than to get to know the real you. But it's a two-way street. You have to give as much as you want to get," I said and I meant it. I suspected that other than his family, Grant didn't have much experience with this. I was willing to be patient. About some things at least. "No more lying. I'm serious, Grant. It's a deal-breaker."

  He nodded and his lips pulled into the smile I suspected he knew I couldn't resist. I patted the sofa next to me and smiled back, giving him some space as he climbed in the seat. "I'm sure you don't watch a lot of TV," I said, rolling my eyes at him, "but I didn't get a chance to watch Sherlock this week. If there is one thing you need to know about me it it's that there's nothing I like better than a good mystery."

  Chapter 35

  Amelia

  Lingering over our lunch break, Drew and I sat on the patio of the coffee shop under the shade of a wide umbrella. It was the first chance we’d had in a while to catch up on each other's lives.

  "So, you're coming with us on Saturday night to the music festival?" Drew asked.

  I took a sip of my iced coffee before answering. "Yes, I'm going but Thomas knows this is not a date, correct?"

  Drew nodded. “I told him and he knows. He’s just happy not to be the third wheel again."

  "I'm pretty excited to get outside and do something fun. I feel like I've been trapped indoors this summer either at work or at home." I said, pulling my hair over one shoulder, fanning the back of my neck a little.

  "So how has work been since you un-outed your boss?"

  I snorted and covered my mouth with my hand. "It's been good. We've both been busy so I haven't seen him much."

  "But things haven't been uncomfortable?" he asked.

  "Not really. It is a little weird that we are now 'friends' since he is my boss, but really I do like him. He's different. In a good way." I shrugged, trying to play off my actual interest. For some reason, I hadn't told Drew about my promise to Olivia and the intensity of my connection with Grant.

  "Different? I'll say. As in he's gorgeous. And rich. And for some reason seems wants to be your friend when he shuts everyone else out."

  I made a face and said, "Stop. Or I won't talk about him anymore with you."

  He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head so I could see his eyes. He asked, "Isn't he still picking you up and dropping you off for work because he's worried about your safety? Or so he claims. I have a feeling it is more than that, Mel."

  "Okay, I admit it. I'm pretty sure he may be attracted to me. You know, I just get that feeling, like there’s energy or some sort of chemistry between us. But sometimes it feels like good, exciting energy and sometimes it feels dark and mysterious. There is definitely something going on with Grant Palmer that I can't put my finger on," I confessed.

  "Ha!" He cackled. "Yeah, I know what you want to put your finger on…"

  "Shut up, I'm serious." I felt the heat rush up my face anyway. "I'm done with this conversation, move on."

  We talked a bit more about the upcoming music festival we had tickets to on Saturday afternoon and evening. It was primarily local bands, food, and drinks, but Drew and I had gone every year since we were freshmen in college.

  “Gotta go,” Drew said, glancing at his watch. He packed up his things to head back to work. I was going to sit for a bit longer and read my book and enjoy the warm weather. As he said goodbye a shadow passed over the table and a waitress appeared to clean up. I looked up and realized it was the pretty girl who normally worked the counter with the long black hair. I smiled and said, "Oh hi! How are you? I haven't seen you in a while."

  She returned the smile. "I'm pretty good. I spent some time back home so I’ve been off for a couple of weeks. How about you?"

  “I’ve been good. Where do you call home?”

  “A little place called Lost Cove. It’s deep in the mountains. My family has lived there for generations.”

  "Sounds cool.”

  “It’s okay, but super small—and confining. Okay, it’s sort of like hell on earth.”

  “That bad?”

  “Asheville may not be the biggest city, but it’s definitely bigger than where I come from.”

  “Any news on the missing girl?” I didn’t mention my terrible dreams.

  “No, her kidnapping seems to have hit a nerve though. Even back home they were talking about her."

  "Really?”

  She gestured to the chair asking permission to sit with me, I nodded and she quickly pulled it out and sat down. "Like I said, my family has lived in the same community for generations. They’re old fashioned and have a fairly different view on life.”

  “How so?”

  “No one really knows where the Melungeons, which is what we’re called traditionally, descend from. Some say African, others Portuguese. Everyone has the same dark hair and light eyes. It’s kind of our thing.”

  “Wow, I never knew about that.”

  “A fair amount of our ancestry can traced back to Native Americans—particularly The Cherokee.” She shrugged. “But all those groups together just sort of created this weird community that was separated from the rest of the world for over a century. The Cherokee legends mixed with European and Southern religious beliefs. Not the normal shit either—the weird shit that gets you your own TV show on TLC.”

  “Holy crap, Laurel, you escaped a cult.”

  She laughs and nods. “Honestly? I did kind of escape a culty-environment. I mean, no one had to marry old guys or wear weird dresses from Little House on the Prairie, but they completely buy into the bizarre mixture of old-wives tales and religion and inter-mingle them in
to daily life. They don’t marry you off but as a woman, there is no place for me there other than as a wife or a mother. I'm not interested in either of those things right now, so I left."

  I made an exaggerated motion of shuddering at the thought and we both laughed at the idea of a commitment as serious and long-term as marriage or motherhood.

  "What about the poster of the missing girl? What does she have to do with it?" I asked, still trying to figure out where she was going with this.

  "I shouldn't really tell you. What happens during church council is supposed to be very sacred." She actually looked around the patio to see if anyone was listening. "But, I don't believe in any of it. It is all propaganda spread by the elders. Voodoo and supernatural crap.”

  "Please don't feel like you need to tell me if you're uncomfortable, I was just curious.”

  "No, I'm not kidding. I don't believe a word of their tales. When I went home they had a big church meeting and potluck, which was pretty normal, summer solstice and everything. The Deacons, which is what they call the old guys at the church, typically tell the same stories, half of them scare tactics. Fire and brimstone combined with weird voo-doo stuff. Seriously, it’s insane. I’m embarrassed even talking about it.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” I said, laughing, but felt bad about making fun of her.

  “Girl, you have no idea.” Laurel rolled her eyes. “Well, this time was no different, except they mentioned Asheville and the murders going on here. My mother begged me to stay home and not come back, but I’ve spent my life resisting their twisted brain washing and this time was no different.”

  “Wow.”

  “They even pulled out the big guns. The head Deacon, Judson, launched into his favorite story about an enemy that they battled like, a hundred years ago. I’m relieved they didn’t reenact it with a skit.”

  “Oh, sounds dramatic.”

  “Very dramatic. Did you know their so-called enemy was a bunch of wild demons that drank the blood of their victims for nourishment? Because it is. The demons have razor sharp teeth and play tricks with their minds. If they chose, they could turn you into one of their kind with a simple bite to the skin."

  I frowned. "Wait…you’re talking about vampires."

  She rolled her eyes and said mockingly, "Yes, vampires. They don't call them that but the thought is the same. The elders have this ancient bible—handwritten if that tells you anything—and the stories inside warns us they are beautiful creatures that easily lure you in with their looks and enticing features. Our ancestors claim they visited these parts before and now they have returned, feeding once more on the innocent with a grand plan to build an army to take out all of humanity. Frankly, I think this is their back-assed way of keep us from marrying white dudes from outside the community."

  "And they think Jenna was taken by these demons?" I asked. I thought about the girl in my dream, calling for help, the flames licking her feet. Fire and brimstone, indeed.

  "Yes. They suspect she is either dead or has been changed into one of the blood-suckers."

  "What are they going to do about it?" I wondered, envisioning battles in my head. "Do they have vampire slayers or demon fighters? Because that would be awesome."

  She laughed and said, "I know, right? Unfortunately, it's all just a story the old people like to share to scare kids from leaving the mountains. I mean, here’s how they manipulate everyone. They claim there are two things that keep you safe. One is a different legend about our people being able to morph into their spirit animal.”

  “Any animal?”

  “Supposedly. Anyone marked with the spirit can transform.” She pointed to the birthmark on her cheek. “I’m one of the chosen. Oh wait, I’m not. I’m a girl.” I laughed at her tone, not because it was funny. It all sounded insane. She shook her head and continued, “According to the myth, these mystical animals protect our people and land. There’s one other thing that can protect us.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They say is our community has a covenant with some of these demons forbidding them to consume our people, in human or shape-shifting form. The only way to ensure safety though, is if you remain in Lost Cove." She sighed. "It's really very convenient way to keep people afraid and tied to the valley. It definitely works on the less-strong-minded of us."

  "So you're telling me you come from a community that believes in shape-shifters and vampires and you don't want any part of it?" I joked. "You know, vampires in movies usually are pretty hot, you may want to look into that.”

  “I like how you think, Amelia,” she said with a laugh.

  “Oh,” I said, leaning forward. “Speaking of super-hot, mysterious guys, guess what?"

  "What?"

  "You were wrong about Mr. Palmer being gay. I’m pretty sure you just aren’t his type," I teased. “Definitely not gay.”

  "Huh. Interesting. If I’m not his type then I wonder what kind of girl meets his criteria?"

  “He probably has a list,” I mumbled, my face growing warm. Laurel announced she needed to get back to work before she got in trouble for socializing on the job. Checking my watch, I saw it was time for me to head back to work also. As I stood and collected my bag I asked her quickly, "Exactly where is Lost Cove? I'm not originally from North Carolina so my geography of the area is limited."

  "Lost Cove is in the middle of the Smokey Mountains, like way off the map. Trust me, you don’t want to go there," she joked. “They may not ever let you leave.”

  ~*~

  I was working at my desk later that day when Grant appeared in the doorway.

  “Do you need something?” I asked.

  “Do you have any idea where my brown boots are?"

  Grant had recently returned home from the Foundation office and had changed out of his suit. Now he stood in the doorway, shoeless, with thick brown and cream striped socks on his feet.

  "I'm not positive, but I think Olivia may have given those away. They were not deemed 'classic' enough to keep. And I believe she may have commented that it is July and “who wears dark brown lace up boots in the middle of the summer.”" I tried to look innocent.

  "I wear boots all year. I always have."

  "Well, maybe you should consider making a change,” I said in an intentionally patronizing voice, knowing perfectly well this would never happen. This man was entrenched in his habits.

  He considered this for a minute, or so it seemed, before he turned and went back upstairs.

  I continued my work at my desk and started to type up the report for the day when he reappeared. He pointed down at his feet.

  "See, I'm flexible. I found a different pair. And I'm okay with it," he said with a tense smile. "I am perfectly comfortable in these boots instead of the others."

  I studied him for a minute trying not to roll my eyes at his absurdity. Everything about Grant was perfect as usual. His hair and fair, enviable skin, his T-shirt that pulled just so across his chest. The fabric clung to his biceps and showed a hint of what he probably had going on with his abs. His snug jeans hung exactly right on his hips. And then his boots. Which were also perfect, but basically, exactly, the same as the ones he had on before. By the look on his face I could tell he actually felt proud of himself and was consciously making an effort to push his boundaries. I couldn't help but smile, finding his stunted behavior charming.

  Crap.

  Only stupid girls with stupid crushes found stuff like shoes and obsessive behavior charming.

  "Grant," I said. "I know you think you're trying, but this is not different."

  He furrowed his brow in confusion. "But, it is different. I don't usually wear this pair."

  This time I laughed out loud and said, "Come on, let’s shake things up a bit."

  He followed me to his dressing room. I got down on my knees and starting rummaging through his rows and rows of shoes. I finally found what I was looking for and pulled them out. I turned around and sat at his feet, sliding the shoes toward him. �
��Try those.”

  He eyed them skeptically but sat down on the floor across from me nevertheless. He held up the shoes, one in each hand, dangling them from his long fingertips.

  "These? I don't know, Amelia."

  "Yes, these. It's summer, and you are clearly going somewhere causal, and boots are for winter. Or hiking. Sneakers are for summer,” I said. "If you want, I could find you a nice pair of flip flops."

  Panic spread across his face. He unlaced his boots. I sat on the floor, mesmerized by his fluid movements. He paused before putting the new ones on. He seemed like he couldn't quite commit to actually wearing the sneakers.

  I sighed and picked up the shoe in front of me and began loosening the laces for him. They were basic, navy, low top Converse. I had noticed them before while organizing the closet, and could tell they had never been worn. They still held the strong smell of new canvas and rubber.

  "Let me see your foot," I directed, holding my hands out. He looked at me like I had asked him to take his pants off or something. I rolled my eyes. "Grant, just give me your foot."

  He slowly moved his stripe-socked foot in my direction. His knees were up and his palms were back on the floor behind him. I picked up his foot and slid it into the shoe, meticulously pulling the long, white laces taut one row at a time. I kept my eyes on the shoe but I could feel Grant's eyes on my hands. In the quiet between us, I heard him take a deep swallow.

  As I tied the top of the laces in a neat bow I found myself rambling to fill the silence. "When I was sixteen I got a job at the mall selling shoes. It was terrible. People would come in and want to try on shoe after shoe. They would tell me their shoes sizes and then I would have to go to the back of the store to find the style and size they asked for. There were these huge shelves of shoe boxes in the back. Rows and rows of boxes that all looked exactly the same and nothing was ever in the right place. Every time I had to go back there I would get completely confused and overwhelmed. They could've used Olivia to organize it for them." I took a peek at his face and smiled.