by Sara Kimball
Alex stuffed the rage down inside her as Johnny and Mitch left, locking the door behind them. Smiling internally at their idiocy for thinking she would sit still and wait in her room like a docile female, she moved soundlessly from the bed, stripped and headed to her closet. Sliding into a pair of jeans and a sweater, and then slipping on some socks, she made her way to the window, grabbing her backpack on the way. She had made sure to put in some clothes, money, and anything she would need later that she couldn’t replace.
Alex had come up with the plan to leave two days ago, but then she had thought about what it would mean, never officially putting her father to rest, never seeing his grave, never saying goodbye. So she had changed her mind to stay for the funeral. Now she was glad she was packed and ready to go. She grabbed tennis shoes and tied the laces to one of the backpack straps before swinging it over her shoulders and going to the window. Sliding it open, she looked for any guards or funeral guests lurking outside.
Seeing no one, Alex put her feet on the slim ledge that ran below her window and climbed out, creeping to the left, to the porch roof. It was only six feet away, but the last time Alex had crept out like this she had been twelve and on her way to see if she could snag a kiss from Ben, the local boy who had captured her interest in school.
All told, the night had been a bust. Ben hadn’t kissed her, and her dad had busted her when she tried to climb back into her window—but mostly she had been caught because she fell and broke her arm.
Alex figured she had made it down okay the first time, and she would today too. Too much was riding on her escape. Her safety—her life as she knew it—would end tonight if she couldn’t get away. Granted she had been planning on leaving, but now, with the knowledge she was to be given to Dupree, the stakes were raised that much more. Choosing to run was at least her choice, not something she was forced to do by her brother. Alex could handle the former but not the latter.
Johnny Dupree used, abused, and wore down his mates until they eventually slipped into death, relieved to be free of him. Alex didn’t want to be another number in his harem, and she certainly didn’t want to be another body in his graveyard.
Inching her way out on the thin ledge, she turned so she was balancing on her toes, her left arm stretched straight behind her from where her fingers gripped the window frame. Moving across the two feet in the middle of the ledge was the hardest part, with nothing to hang onto, but then Alex made a quick jump and landed lightly on the porch roof in her socks, barely making a creak. She crept her way around to the side of the house, thankful for the covered wraparound porch below her. Avoiding the second story windows, Alex cursed when she realized her car was blocked in by all of the Pack vehicles. Her wolf nudged her, and Alex smiled, liking the idea that flashed behind her eyes.
Checking to see if the coast was clear, she lay on the roof and poked her head over the edge to look inside the house windows. It was a little disorienting at first, seeing everything upside down—not to mention making her head throb—but it didn’t take long to realize that no one was near the kitchen, and she was clear to jump down without being spotted.
She prepped herself and then launched off the roof, landing and rolling in a smooth motion behind the closest bushes in an effort to avoid anyone seeing her. Running to her car, making sure to keep low, she darted to the far side, ducking behind the trunk. Her vision was spinning slightly, but no one was yelling or coming for her, so she breathed deeply in relief and to steady herself.
Waiting several moments, Alex peered around tensely, and slowly opened her passenger door, putting her bag on the seat. With a satisfied look, she pulled out a large folding knife from her pocket and went to work.
Not ten minutes later Alex was safely ensconced in her car, her fingers hovering over the ignition, knowing that as soon as she started it up she was going to have the Pack after her. Her wolf sent her an encouraging bark, and she turned her fingers, quickly throwing the car into reverse and backing up on the lawn before taking a wide arc around all the other vehicles. Her tires made soft track marks through the pristine grass. She couldn’t help but laugh at her wolf’s delight that they were refusing to obey convention by using the gravel driveway. We will make our own path. Her wolf radiated pride at their resourcefulness.
She had just turned around the last car and pulled onto the driveway when a shout came from the house. Her brother, Johnny, and several of the male enforcers came running, pulling keys out of pockets. Alex gunned it, peeling out slightly, and made it halfway down the driveway just as the others made it to their cars and began to follow. She saw in her rear view mirror that they were having a hard time driving with all of those flat tires, and laughed to herself out loud before continuing toward the nearest freeway onramp.
From the Journal of Elizabeth Harcourt, 1916
My child went off to war. He fought for another country, but fight he did. I was so proud and so scared for him when he left. But I made sure not to show him my fear as he walked away, his steps spry and loose, not troubled in the slightest.
Over the past months the letters I received from him have made me feel…so anguished. They show very clearly that he is no longer the carefree man I once knew, but rather worn. Tired and distraught, talking about trenches and mud and death.
Henry read the letters too and decided to join John over there in Europe, to be his support. He left two days ago, and today I received news that John is dead. Mustard gas.
I would cry for my dead son, but I can’t now that I am so worried for the one that is still alive. We raise our children to be heroes. To stand tall and strong against injustice, to face it down and fight against it. But when they fail—when they fall—when they die…you wonder if you shouldn’t have told them to let others have their way, just ignore the hate and go their own path. But you know, in your heart, that if they ignored injustices you wouldn’t be proud of them. Then you wouldn’t love them as much.
But then, because you are proud of them, you love them more. And because you love them more, you hurt more when they are gone.
Chapter 2
It was almost three hours later that Alex parked the car in an obscure area of the Denver airport, where there weren’t any security cameras. She was off the beaten path and not in an official airport parking lot, but she hoped when her brother found the car he would think she was on a plane heading somewhere far away. She wavered on whether or not to buy a dummy ticket, but didn’t want to waste the money. Slipping on her tennis shoes, she headed on foot to the bus station.
After only twenty minutes of waiting she had a seat on the first bus out of town. Glad that she hadn’t brought her phone, so as not to be tracked by the GPS, Alex was no less bored and wishing she had thought to at least bring a book to keep herself occupied. Satisfying herself alternatively watching the other occupants of the bus, and staring at passing scenery, she leaned her head back and relaxed slightly.
It was a long night of riding, and sleep was elusive but Alex managed to doze some. In the morning she woke to brownish grass covering the flat land and wide open skies. It had a subtle, austere beauty that she liked, though she knew it wasn’t for everyone.
Her wolf imagined what it would be like to chase rabbits through the waving grass, crouching low and weaving between clumps sneakily, until close to the tasty little fluff balls. Then springing up quickly to snap them in between her strong jaws. Alex chuckled at her wolf’s musings, still looking out the window.
After a while they stopped, and Alex found out she was in Iowa. The continuing passengers were shuffled to another bus, and travelled on. A second changeover, and then a third happened before Alex arrived at her destination. Twenty seven plus hours after she had left her Pack’s home in Denver—for the last time—Alex stepped off the bus in New York, New York. She took a deep breath of freedom, and promptly coughed up a lung from the bus’s exhaust fumes. Deciding not to stick around, she moved along the city streets trying to come up with a plan. First order of b
usiness was to find work, then somewhere to live.
It was hard to ignore the rising fear and worry that sat heavy in the back of her mind. The five thousand dollars of Pack money she had taken from her dad’s safe sounded like a lot at first, but it wouldn’t last long if she used it to support herself, especially in New York City. She hadn’t ever had a job, though at least she had her GED, but she knew what she could get for gainful employment on such short notice wouldn’t be her dream job. However, anything would be better than nothing.
Alex was sure that waitressing was something she could do—if a restaurant would hire her. She had thought finding a job would be easy when she had originally come up with a plan to leave. But now, walking through the large city, Alex felt alone and scared, unsure of herself.
Seeing a restaurant with a help wanted sign, she went inside, and talked with the maître d’. The woman looked Alex up and down, lingering on her wrinkled clothing with a sneer on her face. “I’m sorry, but the position has been filled.”
Alex swallowed her disappointment and left. Twenty minutes later, she was at a small pub, looking cheerfully at the manager and expressing how she was the best candidate for pouring beers and serving greasy fries to patrons.
“Sorry, but the policy is nobody under twenty-one,” was the reply. He did give her a lecherous leer, looking up and down her lithe form, and made mention of a friend that might have a position open for her. Shortly after, Alex was walking down the street, wondering at a place that wouldn’t let you serve alcohol until twenty-one, but would let you dance naked for money at eighteen.
Loneliness and heartache made the task of finding a job seem insurmountable, and she wandered aimlessly for a while, getting lost among the towering buildings. If she didn’t focus too closely, it almost felt like she was in a forest with trees towering over her. Longing for the ease and simplicity of her life before her father died thrummed strongly through her. He had made sure she could flourish and grow, like a flower in a garden. Protecting and caring for her when she wanted or needed it. Especially since her mother had died when Alex was only four—Nina had been her father’s second mate. Her father had lost his first mate during Mitch's childbirth.
She didn’t miss the house, clothes, or other possessions, but Alex did miss the feelings of comfort, love and security that her father had given her. Pushing the thoughts away again and promising herself she would think about it all later, Alex focused on her task. She was hungry and tired, but ignored both complaints, forging on.
It took an hour or so of walking along streets before she spotted a small help wanted sign in the window of a restaurant. The building was non-descript, with only a door and a small window. The sign above, which read ‘Mangiare’, was hung and painted a similar color to the gray stone behind it. In addition, the whole place fit snugly between two larger businesses that overshadowed the restaurant. It seemed to fade into obscurity. The only reason Alex knew it was a restaurant was because of the pungent smell of garlic, bread, and cheese wafting through the air around it.
Alex sat across the street for a little while, watching the place. She was hesitant to go in and get rejected once again, and fear was making her feet turn to stone. Eventually her wolf chuffed at her—sending a thread of a thought to Alex that sounded a lot like her wolf was calling her a pansy ass—and Alex strode across the street, inwardly bolstering her courage. I left home, I am brave. I can do this.
It was quiet inside, the door squeaking softly, and most lights were turned off. The restaurant walls were painted a deep red color, with light beech wood accents. Tables filled the space, laid with white tablecloths and a red accent cloth. A fake ficus stood near the hostess’ desk. There were two men seated at a table in the corner who were talking softly, but they stopped when she entered.
“We’re closed. Wait a couple hours and come back.” The man sitting on the right spoke to her, his voice friendly enough but brooking no argument. He was wearing a white button up shirt that was open at his throat and showing a flashy gold chain around his neck. He was overweight but not paunchy, and had a gruff exterior. He looked like what she expected an iconic Italian man to appear as. The man on the left was lean and muscular, clean cut and wearing a brown suit with a blue tie. He was watching her suspiciously. Sniffing the air delicately, Alex was unable to pick up anything specific about the two men because of the amalgamation of scents wafting from the kitchen.
Swallowing, Alex stood straight and replied. “I saw the help wanted sign and I’d like to apply.”
The man on the right looked her up and down contemplatively before he spoke again. “I’m not interested in runaways.”
Alex felt a little affronted, she may have been an actual runaway, but her wolf was proud, and didn’t like being talked to so dismissively. Especially after the last two places had done the same. Forcing a large smile on her face, she said, “I might look like a runaway, but I’m just a teenager. My name is Alex. I’m a good waitress, and looking for a job.” She looked at the help wanted sign and feigned amazement. Sarcastically she continued, “Oh look, you have a job available.” She smiled at the men again, more real this time. “How about you tell me when to be back for my first shift, and we can do a trial, based on my performance tonight? You don’t even have to pay me, I’ll work for tips this once.” She ignored the fact she’d never worked before and focused on one thing: I can do this.
A more correct statement popped into her head right after. I have to do this.
The man to her right threw back his head and belly-laughed deeply. The sound boomed through the empty restaurant and was infectious in its felicity. Alex smiled slightly at her own audacity, but rolled with the cheeky persona she had put on. “So that’s a yes. What time?”
The man wiped his eyes, and shook his head at her. “Be back at five. Wear all black. I’ll give you an apron and show you around. I’m Lorenzo, the owner.” He chuckled again. “Lord help me, you remind me of my daughter.” He mumbled to himself affectionately, “Mouthy git she is too.”
Acting brave and unbothered, Alex continued to smile. “Thank you very much. I’ll be back at five sharp.” She waved her goodbye and ignored the still-suspicious face of the other man, leaving the restaurant with a more cheerful stride. She had two hours to buy clothes, since nothing she had was black, and return for her first shift. She’d worry about where to sleep after.
///
The second hand shop she found gave her a surprising amount of gothic apparel to choose from, but she was sure Lorenzo hadn’t meant a black bra through a black fishnet top, so she kept looking until finding a black button up blouse a couple sizes too big and a black skirt that was a little long. She also found a pair of black flat shoes that looked like they would work. They were a size too small, but she bought them anyway because it was the nicest outfit she could find.
Looking at the LED digital message board outside of a bank, she spotted the time and took off at a fast clip back to the restaurant. She wished she had time to wash the clothing she had bought, due to the overwhelming floral scent of spray-on cleaner the store had used, but she knew it wouldn’t hurt her—she was a werewolf after all—and besides, by the end of the night she would probably smell like garlic and pasta sauce, so she wasn’t too worried about it.
Making it a few minutes early to the restaurant, Alex used the bathroom to change, washing her face and applying a little mascara. It was the one make up item she had brought with her. Brushing her hair, she pulled the curly blond mass back into a bun and then prepared herself for her first ever job, trying to appear like she had done this before.
Throughout the night, Alex was aware that she had made some mistakes, but none of them were irredeemable. She’d accidentally given the chicken Caesar salad to the female party at a table and the lasagna to the man while covering for a coworker who was on a break—the diners had looked at each other and laughed while swapping plates and she had apologized. She had also given someone their check before they had
time to order dessert, but quickly took it back when they decided to linger awhile over smooth and creamy tiramisu.
Lorenzo looked on and Alex did her best to smile at all the customers and pay attention to their needs before they had to ask. Making sure to swing by with more water or offering to get more drinks from the bar. Bringing out food promptly and making sure to refill breadstick baskets.
In between the early and late dinner rushes, Alex learned that all of the other waiters were related to Lorenzo’s family in some way. He had two nieces working for him and a young busboy that was his nephew on his wife’s side. The staff in the kitchen were also connected—though not related—the chef being his uncle’s cousin’s neighbor’s son, back in Italy. Everyone else had looked at her oddly at first, and when Lorenzo introduced her, they were all shocked to find out she had just walked in asking for the job. Although Alex was sure they were more surprised that Lorenzo had given the job to her, not that she had asked to be hired. When Lorenzo told them how she reminded him of his own daughter, who had left waitressing last year for college, the surprise faded away to amusement. The other staff nodded knowingly and smiled before shuffling on to their work once again.
After a few hours, everyone had begun to accept her. Soon enough, Alex began to have fun interacting with the people around her.
At least until two of Lorenzo’s friends arrived. They were clearly trouble, and she could smell the gunpowder and oil scent on them from their guns. She couldn’t see the firearms, but guessed they were tucked into their waistbands. And that was about when Alex realized that there was something more going on than just Lorenzo running an Italian restaurant. While hustling to the kitchen with a tray of dirty dishes she caught a bit of a conversation between the three men as they stood in Lorenzo’s office. The door was closed, but because of her super-strength wolf hearing, she managed to catch what they were saying.