Zero missed calls? Zero?
That can’t be. Something must be wrong with my phone. That’s impossible.
I see that I have one text message. One. Measly. Message.
Seeing that it’s from Chris, my heart constricts.
It’s not a good feeling, this tightness in my chest. I also get this nervous feeling in my gut. Usually, I’m happy to see messages from Chris. I love hearing from him. His messages make me smile.
But not this morning.
I recall the way he told me to move aside, so that he could close his patrol car door. ‘Move’. His voice was icy, almost formal.
Distracted by my feelings about the lack of calls, and anxious about opening my message from Chris, I gulp my coffee.
Hot! Hot, hot, hot! It scalds the roof of my mouth and I spit it out, sputtering and spewing coffee all over my phone screen and the countertop.
Turkey keeps eating.
He’s seen me do more awkward things than I care to mention, and spitting up coffee is just par for the course, as much as I hate to admit it.
I use the sleeve of my jammies to wipe off my phone screen, and then the counter, staining it tan in the process. Oops.
Then, reluctantly, I open Chris’s message.
Penny
I’m working overtime. We’re still searching for the two suspects that fled from the crime scene last night. Chief Holcomb arrested Marty last night. We’re also holding Dawson for now, until the fingerprint analysis comes back on the murder weapon. Since you witnessed Marty breaking and entering, you need to fill out a police report. If I’m not at the station, ask to see Officer McDougal. He’ll point you to the report.
Chris
Hunh. Well. that got right to the point, didn’t it? All business. No ‘how are you?’; no ‘sorry for the way I reacted last night’; no, ‘talk to you soon, sugar-pie’.
No ‘I love you’.
Well, he is at work. His mind is on finding two suspects.
Two suspects I told him that he wouldn’t find—not if he insisted on looking for men instead of wolves.
He didn’t take me seriously, at all, did he?
The more I think of this, the madder I get.
He’s asking me to fill out a stupid police report, as if that’s all I have to contribute here? As if I’m just a civilian, who happened to be passing by when Marty was breaking into the inn?
Screw that! I was there as an investigator, and I’m a witch.
I have work to do—and filling in blanks on a silly piece of paper is the least of my concerns.
I’ll get to that when I get to it.
Right now, I have much bigger fish that need to be fried.
Like the fact that there are two potentially dangerous werewolves roaming around Hillcrest.
Why are they here? How are they connected to Raul? Did they kill him? And if they did, are they planning on killing again?
I need to learn about werewolves. As much as I can—as quickly as I can. I need to talk to an expert.
With a fluttery feeling in my gut, I realize who the man I need to talk to is. He practically has a PhD in all things magical. He’s been researching—and participating in—magical phenomenon for over five hundred years. He happens to be a vampire, in fact.
Doctor Maxwell Shire.
Luckily, the man won’t be hard to find. He lives in Blackbear Apartments, in Unit D just across the way.
I also happen to know that he’ll probably be home. He’s a professor at the Hillcrest College, and usually has Fridays off. On most Friday mornings, he wakes up early and goes for a long run, followed by a yoga routine and then some sort of smoothie.
How do I know all this?
He’s invited me to participate.
Several times.
I always say no.
I’m not really a yoga girl.
I love Zumba, but something about folding myself into a pretzel doesn’t strike me as appealing. Plus, being alone with Max in his apartment wouldn’t exactly be healthy for me—no matter how wellness-oriented the activities are.
In fact, it sounds downright dangerous.
Dangerous to my love life, that is.
Chris and I are on the rocks, and Max is the one man in this town I’d consider being with besides Chris.
But if I’m serious about learning the nitty-gritty facts about werewolves, which I am, I’m going to have to risk it.
Chapter Six
When Max opens the door to his apartment, he’s shirtless. Great.
This is not getting off to a good start.
“Why, Penny!” he says, grinning mischievously. “What a pleasant surprise.”
His torso is rippled with muscles. I mean, really. There are little divots and bulges around his eight pack, outlining muscles that I didn’t even know existed.
Without being able to help it, I take a closer look at his chest and abs. Okay, I might be staring. Then I place my hand on my own abdomen. Do I have muscles like those?
I don’t think so.
I press into my stomach, trying to feel anything like what I’m seeing in front of me. It’s a matter of scientific curiosity. I’ve dressed in black pants and a thick black sweatshirt, and it’s kind of hard to feel my stomach through all of the padding. I’m also wearing my bulky fake glasses, and they slip down my nose a bit as I concentrate on my belly.
“Penny?” Max says, a concerned look on his face. “Are you having abdominal pain? Where is it?”
“Uh,” I say, finding it hard to form words. Darn it. He’s just so handsome. The sight of him is making me go brain dead.
“Where is it?” he asks again. “In what quadrant? Have you had your appendix out? It could be appendicitis.”
I stop poking and prodding my stomach and look up, adjusting my glasses at the same time. “Um... no. Max—I’m not here because my stomach hurts. My stomach feels fine.” Fine except for the butterflies stirring around in it, that is. “Uh—do you think you could put a shirt on?”
“Why?” he asks, with a grin. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Yes. No. I mean, uh—maybe? I just was hoping to ask you some questions, and I don’t think—”
I stop short. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.
“You don’t think Chris would like it if you and I visited while one of us was half undressed?” Max asks.
I sigh. “Exactly,” I say.
Max’s grin broadens. I find myself looking over his torso again. I seriously can’t help it!
“I’ll grab a shirt,” Max says, laughing lightly. “Wait here.”
He leaves the doorway, and I watch his back as he retreats into his apartment.
His back is almost as muscular as his front. Good lord, this guy knows how to use his time wisely. Doctor Max Shire is one of the healthiest people I know. His expertise in the field of longevity has allowed him to live to five hundred while still looking like a young man.
A young, very fit man. He’s had five hundred years to train himself into perfection, after all.
When he returns to the door, he’s wearing a bright red muscle shirt. It’s made of a shiny, sporty material, and it hugs his chest and ribcage tightly. It’s not much of an improvement over being shirtless, but it will have to do.
“Better?” Max asks.
I still feel faint.
“Better...” I repeat in a coarse whisper. I clear my throat. “Max—like I said. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions. Do you—” I gulp nervously, and then press onwards. “Do you think I could come in?”
“Of course,” Max says. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that since the moment I moved in, Penny,” he says. “That’s the reason I moved here, in fact. I wanted to live near the most beautiful witch-in-training I’ve ever met. You know what they say, location, location, location.”
I blush a little bit, and frown. “Don’t call me beautiful, Max,” I say.
“Why not? You are.” He looks at me with his dark, deep, rich brown eyes.<
br />
“I—I should probably remind you that I have a boyfriend,” I say.
“Oh, right,” Max gives a little laugh. “You’re still giving that a go, are you? How are things with Chris, these days?”
“Fine,” I lie. I’m not here to cry on Max’s shoulder about how close-minded Chris was last night. I’m here to collect facts.
“Good,” Max says, in a way that tells me he’s seen right through my lie. He steps aside, and motions in to his apartment. “Come on in, Penny. I just whipped up a smoothie, in fact. I’d be happy to share it, if you’re feeling adventurous.”
I step through the door, into his entry way. It’s much bigger than mine is, which is odd, because I thought all of the Blackbear Apartments had the same floor plan.
“Adventurous is not exactly how I’d describe my eating habits,” I say. “And right now, I’m feeling stressed. Not adventurous, exactly. I had kind of a rough night.”
“Oh, Penny,” Max says, as he leads me out of the entryway. “Stress is not good for the system. It’s actually the number one cause of aging. Cortisol is one of the most destructive forces in the body. You should never allow yourself to feel stress.”
“I can’t help it,” I say. “I’m in the middle of a really hectic case.”
“Oh—you can help it. You’re just choosing not to,” he says, somewhat vaguely. “You always have a choice, Penny. There are no exceptions.”
Max has a philosophical bent, and I’m not sure if I’m up for one of his lectures. So, I change the topic of conversation towards something I know he loves talking about even more than philosophy: Health food.
“Is that smoothie green?” I ask pointing to the concoction in a blender that’s in the middle of his countertop.
We’ve reached the kitchen, now. I have to say, it’s a lot nicer than my own kitchen. Taking in my surroundings, I quickly follow up my green-smoothie observation with another statement. “Did you renovate this place?” I ask.
“Yes,” Max, says, moving towards a cupboard. “And yes.” He reaches for two glasses. “Yes, this is a green smoothie. It has kale in it, and cucumbers, and celery, and ginger and garlic. And to your second question—indeed, I did renovate.”
“Garlic?” I say. “Aren’t vampires supposed to be repelled by garlic?”
Max has the blender lifted in his hand, poised above the two glasses. He pauses, tilts his chin up, and gives a hearty laugh. “Ha! Repelled by garlic... Penny, you really are too naive for words. It’s absolutely adorable. Where do you get your information? Hollywood movies?”
“And the internet,” I mumble.
“The two worst media outlets—most prone to misinformation. Really.”
He sets down the blender, without having poured any of the green drink. “That whole garlic rumor was started by one vampire. One. He was the head of a company that sold garlic, and it was a part of his marketing campaign. In fact, most of the garlic you buy these days is sold by vampires. We also eat cloves of the stuff, raw. I myself eat five cloves a day.”
Five! Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind if I ever plan on kissing Max Shire. Perhaps I’ll carry breath mints with me, and offer him one before the kiss even has a chance to begin. That way—
Wait one red-hot minute! Why am I thinking about kissing Max Shire?
I have a boyfriend, for goodness sake.
Max picks up the blender again and pours out two full glasses. “The taste grows on you,” he says. “After a while.” Then, he looks right at me, and gives me a wink.
Is it hot in here?
I fan my face a few times, and Max holds out the drink to me. “Here,” he says. “I’m used to the taste. I’ve been drinking one of these every day for the past one hundred and four years—ever since the blender was invented. Also by a vampire, I should add.”
I’ve accepted the drink, and now I lift it up and give it a sniff.
Yes, there’s a faint smell of garlic, which is a bit strange.
But it also smells kind of... fruity. “Is there... pineapple in there?” I ask, detecting the smell of something tropical.
Max nods. He’s already gulped down half of his. He swallows, and then gives a loud, satisfied, “Mmm,” sound. He grins. “And mango. I forgot to tell you about that.”
I take a hesitant sip.
Not bad.
It tastes surprisingly sweet and refreshing.
“Now,” Max says, finishing the last gulp of his smoothie and placing the emptied glass on the countertop. “What is it that you wanted to ask me?”
“Werewolves,” I say.
Max’s eyebrows shoot up.
I continue. “Are they dangerous? I think that there are a few here in Hillcrest, and I want to know as much as I can about them.”
Max eyes me. “How long have they been here?” he asks, carefully.
“Since Tuesday, perhaps.” I say, thinking of the date that Raul arrived into town. I’m not one hundred percent certain that he’s a werewolf, but I think it’s a good possibility. “Definitely Wednesday.”
Max frowns. “It’s now Friday, Penny. You should have told me earlier.”
“I didn’t really know until last night,” I say. “Are they dangerous?”
“It depends...” Max says.
“On what?” I ask.
“On which clan they originate from.”
I sip my smoothie, waiting for him to explain further. The taste has really grown on me. I take a bigger gulp this time, and really enjoy the sensation as I swallow it.
Maybe I do like kale, after all—when it’s blended with tropical fruit and served by a handsome vampire, that is.
“Werewolves are a fairly new addition to the magical community,” Max says. “They evolved around the turn of the century. It all started with one man. He’s the father of all werewolves.”
“Was it a genetic mutation?” I ask. I feel smart for saying this, and I’m sure that I sound smart. You can’t use words like ‘genetic’ and ‘mutation’ and not sound smart. I adjust my glasses. “I mean, did he have some kind of anomaly in his DNA that made him grow fur or something?”
Ha! Anomaly. Another smart word!
Max doesn’t look impressed. In fact, he looks rather amused. “Oh, Penny! You think you’re quite clever, don’t you?”
The man can read me, that’s for sure.
I take that back. The vampire can read me; that’s for sure.
Max goes on. “You humans place so much importance on genetics. You—”
“I’m not a human,” I interject. “I’m a witch.”
“Have you finished your work with the Art and Science of Becoming a Witch?” he asks. I have a feeling he knows the answer.
I shake my head. “No,” I say.
“Well then, you’re not quite a witch yet, are you, Miss Penny? You’re still green. As green as they come. An absolute amateur. It’s delightful. What cycle are you on?”
It takes me a moment to think back to the work my knitting circle is going with the little green book that states it will turn us into witches. We’ve been working through each cycle—there are thirteen, total—rather slowly. I grimace. “Cycle two,” I say meekly.
“Just starting out,” Max says. “That’s the cycle focused on the Banishing Spell, if I’m not mistaken?”
I nod.
“Appropriate timing,” Max mutters to himself. “Seeing as we have werewolves in town.” Then to me he adds, “Is the cycle going well?”
“Not really,” I say. “We haven’t exactly tried the Banishing Spell out yet. We’re planning on giving it a go next Wednesday, when we meet up to knit. Now that there are werewolves in town, we might meet up earlier.”
Max shakes his head.
“We’ll figure it out,” I promise him. “So—the first werewolf wasn’t a genetic mutation?”
“Right,” Max says. “I was speaking on genetics—and the obsession that you humans have about it. You think that DNA is the end-all-be-all; that it’s some sort
of instruction manual, set in stone. But there’s actually something much more powerful, when it comes to predicting destiny.”
He pauses for dramatic affect. There’s a twinkle of excitement in his eye.
I’m afraid he’s going to go off on some metaphysical rant, so I brace myself.
I barely ever understand what Max is talking about when he starts to get all metaphysical.
“Consciousness,” he says, tapping the side of his head.
I groan. “Max, can we just stick to the basics?” I say. “You know how I get lost when you talk about stuff like this.”
“It’s not ‘stuff like this’, Penny,” Max says. “It’s everything. You can’t have a conversation about anything without talking about consciousness. That’s because consciousness is everything.”
His words make my head spin. “Can we at least try?” I say. “To have a conversation without talking about... consciousness. I’m not even sure what that word means.”
“The mind,” Max says, tapping the side of his head again. “That’s all it means. Thoughts. Thoughts are everything. Don’t worry. By the time you finish the ‘Art and Science’, you’ll understand.”
“So thoughts are more powerful than genetics?” I ask, trying hard to grasp even a fragment of what we are talking about.
“A thousandfold,” Max says, nodding happily. “Genetics had nothing to do with the first werewolf. The first man who turned into a wolf was actually cursed by a witch. She used her mind... and magic. Really those two things are one in the same. She put a spell on him that ensured he would turn into a wolf at every full moon, whether he liked it or not.”
“So that part is real,” I say. “I knew that—the bit about the full moon.”
Max nods and continues. “The first werewolf felt ashamed of his condition. I know this firsthand.” Max doesn’t often act boastful, but now he does. He puffs out his chest and looks quite proud of himself, almost as if he’s announcing that Brad Pitt is a friend of a friend.
“That’s... pretty cool,” I say, because I feel like he wants me to. Really, I just want him to keep talking.
“It is cool,” he says. He nods. Then, he continues. “He hid away, especially around full moons. He thought society would reject him. He was afraid of his own wolf instincts. But then...”
The Case of the Banishing Spell Page 7