Pack of Freaks: Beasts Among Us - Book 2

by Jennifer Zamboni

  Doug actually smiled, wonder upon wonders.

  “All right, that was awesome.” He tried to hand me the keys.

  “Keep them. It’s your bike now.”

  He smiled, then frowned. “We’re still going to talk about things, this doesn’t make it all better.”

  “I know, I know. We’ll talk. Celebrations first.” I grabbed grumpy’s hand and tugged him towards the front door, where a bouncer waited, checking IDs.

  Shit. I’d forgotten my license in my hurry to get out the door.

  Pat, the bouncer smiled at me, then nodded towards the bike. “Nice ride, Gretchen. Go ahead in. I don’t need to see it, I know you’re over 21.”

  Luckily, I was a regular, and the bouncers, bartenders, and waitresses pretty much all recognized me. No new faces meant I didn’t have to worry about my license-free pockets.

  Doug held out his own for inspection, though Pat waved him in without glancing at it.

  As we entered, I noticed the building next to the bar had been rented. It had been closed up for a long time, but now there were closed curtains hiding the inside. Interesting. I’d thought the place was too trashed for anyone to bother with. Must have been people with money.

  Scott and Austin waved to us from the table we often claimed.

  The former remained silent, while the other congratulated me quietly. Austin was a reserved kind of guy.

  “No wifey tonight?” I asked, noting his singular state.

  “Nah, she’s, um, not really drinking these days.” He shifted uncomfortably.

  “Austin, are you pregnant?” I pounced on his statement right away.

  “Well, no, Andrea is.” He lifted his Bud bottle to his lips and took a swig.

  “Which is why you’re chugging the beer, while she’s sitting at home twiddling her thumbs. Congratulations.” I gently punched his arm.

  “Knitting actually. And thanks, I’ll pass that on. We haven’t officially announced it yet, though.” He smiled and shifted in his chair.

  “Andrea knits? I didn’t know that.” I could picture it though, the woman was a jacky-of-all-trades.

  “Yeah. She’s really good actually. Her grandma taught her, I think. She made this.” Austin picked at the dark blue sweatshirt he was wearing, which I’d taken to be actual sweatshirt material, and machine-made.

  “She made that? Wow, maybe I should learn.” I walked around the table and took a closer look at his sweater, which poor Austin endured.

  There was a tap on my shoulder. “I could set you up with some needles and yarn.”

  I spun around. “Natasha! What are you doing up here? Boys, this is Natasha the Russian, one of our clients.”

  I introduced the tall, punked-out woman, whom I really only knew as Natasha the Russian. Today she was wearing lime green boots, black leggings, and an artfully distressed oversized Beethoven T-shirt. I’m guessing she’d done her own distressing, as I doubted Hot Topic promoted Beethoven.

  After everyone had muttered their hellos, I patted a chair next to me, inviting her to join us.

  “I’m opening my own shop, right next door, actually.” She perched on the edge of the seat and played with her choppy layers.

  “That would explain the curtains. That place needs a lot of work.”

  “I have my methods,” she remarked mysteriously. Everything about that woman was a mystery. Last I knew, she had been living in Farmington but drove over to us for haircuts and shopping trips. Apparently, she’s taking the area by storm. I couldn’t wait to see what her shop looked like. Something told me it wasn’t going to be a traditional craft shop.

  “You should stop in sometime. I’ll give you some free lessons.”

  I shook my head.

  Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “But I thought you just said—”

  “No, I’m not turning down lessons, just the ‘free’ part. Let’s barter at least. You’re due for a haircut and color soon, right? We can work something mutually beneficial out I bet.”

  “Well, if you insist.” I could tell she liked my idea better. “I was just going to give them free, like I said. But I do need a color.” She pulled a faded purple streak in front of her face for close inspection, then leaned in conspiratorially.

  “Percy called me earlier this evening. She said you’re having some, ah, control issues. She thinks knitting might help calm you down a bit.”

  I leaned back, startled, knocking into Doug, who luckily had not yet ordered a drink.

  “What the hell did Percy tell you?” I leaned back in and hissed, my face contorting from a smile into a snarl.

  I didn’t know what Natasha was, though I suspected her of being fae, but what gave Percy the right to tell people about me?

  “Calm down, Gretchen. I already knew your time of the month was somewhat fuzzier than the average bitch.” She smiled at my snarl and tapped the side of her nose.

  “What’s going on?” Doug asked loudly and innocently.

  “Oh, nothing, Natasha and I were just catching up on the dirt on one another.” I turned and forced a smile.

  If it had just been Doug there, I would’ve been more than happy to include him in the conversation. But Scott and Austin were sharing a table with us.

  “I was just telling her about my new shop,” Natasha supplied.

  The answer was accepted by my two band boys, but not Doug.

  “Lots to talk about,” I muttered at him.

  He nodded and kept his mouth shut, as there was a waitress approaching our table.

  The boys ordered beers, I ordered my Captain and Coke, and Natasha ordered a martini.

  Russians like their vodka. If Natasha was actually a Russian. I suspected not. At least, I didn’t think she was Baba Yaga. Chicken-footed houses and cannibalism didn’t really strike me as punk Natasha traits.

  I sipped my drink as I mused over the possibilities. My nostrils flared as I tried to get a scent from her without actually leaning over and taking a whiff. As always, all I could smell was her perfume, with no personal stench mixed in.

  She must have noticed, because she raised an eyebrow and smirked.

  Mark and his girlfriend, Rachel, showed up, followed by Amanda, Fern, and an unhappy looking Meredith.

  More beers were ordered, and the group settled into happy chatter, revolving around Doug and my engagement and the recording Chaos Theory was working on.

  Natasha participated in the conversations as if she’d always been a part of our group, which made me think that Percy had talked to her on more occasions than just that day.

  Apparently, Meredith was unhappy because she’d been chosen to be the designated driver out of her, Amanda, and Fern, which they had played rock-paper-shoot for. She’d tried to back out at the last minute, complaining that she was just too tired to go out.

  Eventually, nature called, as is the norm with alcohol in any system, and I excused myself to the bathroom. I found out I was being followed before I even got to the ladies room. In I went, then turned around to face Natasha.

  She closed the door and locked it behind us.

  “How long have you been talking to Percy about me?” I tried my utmost to keep my temper under control, succeeding at least for the time being.

  “Percy and I have been acquainted for years. She told me all about you when she was thinking about hiring you.” She crossed her arms under her ample chest and waited.

  I exhaled, pushing the stress out of my limbs, and letting go of my anger. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. You really do need to relax, missy. Percy is just trying to help you. Knitting is very relaxing. The repetitiveness has a soporific effect. I agree with Percy, I think I can help you a bit. Come by my shop tomorrow, and we’ll get you started.”

  Her tone bespoke the fact that this was not a suggestion, but an order. Something made me want to obey it, so I nodded.

  “Good. I’ll let you pee in peace.” She unlocked the door and left while I claimed the nearest stall.

 
Something deep down inside was scared shitless of Natasha the Russian, in a way that I should have feared Percy and Hades.

  I rejoined the group for another half an hour, then made feinted tired excuses, and made my escape with Doug by my side.

  Back at the house, I pulled Doug into my room and told him everything I knew about Natasha.

  “Well, if Percy thinks you should give it a shot. You trust her, right?” Doug pulled me in close to his side, as we were lying next to each other on my bed, staring up at the off-white ceiling.

  “Yes, I do. Now, about the bike.” I jumped subjects, hoping to throw him off a bit. “I could quit working now, and not work again for another 300 years or so, and be able to live comfortably off of what I’ve saved and invested. I hadn’t thought anything about the money, because, well, I didn’t think I needed to.”

  Doug buried his nose in my hair and didn’t say anything for a good long while, though his arms tightened around me.

  “How much money, Gretchen?” he asked finally.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, a lot. I haven’t added it all together in a good long time. It’s in a lot of different places, some of it still tied up in investments, some of it being reinvested, some in banks, some in holes dug in the ground in lots of places. I have a couple million or so in my safe, just in case.” The last part came out somewhat squeakier than I had intended.

  Doug turned me and yanked my chin up so I was looking into his eyes. “Gretchen, where did all that money come from?”

  “Ah, well. I made some of it, stole some of it, invested all of it.”

  He groaned. He knew about my past, the less than honest life I’d led at first as a lone wolf.

  “It’s a little late to give the money back now,” I protested defensively.

  “I know, I know.” His voice was quiet, with an edge of sadness.

  “But it still sets you on edge, despite the fact that most of the people I stole from are either dead naturally, or dead via werewolf, aka, me.” It’s not that I don't regret my past, but it was in the past, and there was nothing I could do to change it. “I’m sorry you can’t accept it, feel free to do your own thing.”

  I got up in an attempt to get away, but was stopped when Doug’s hand clamped around my forearm. “You can’t get mad at me, I’m still getting used to all this.” He pulled me in, so that I fell into his lap, and kissed my temple. “Just give me some time.”

  I nodded but didn’t look at him.

  “It’s been a long day. See you in the morning?” He shifted me off his lap, then stood himself, still holding my arm, then slid his hand down into mine, lifting it to kiss my knuckles. “Have a lovely evening, my lady.”

  “Good night.” I watched him walk out my door, unsure what to do with the talk we just had.

  The next afternoon found me standing outside the black-curtained, signless shop next to the now empty bar. I had parked my bike by the curb and was about to rap my knuckles on the door while I was shoving my keys into my front pocket, but I never had a chance to connect. The door opened, leaving my hand around the level of Natasha’s chest. I dropped my arm.

  “Good, you made it.” Natasha ushered me in, holding the door.

  The place was filled with shelves and boxes marked with different colored yarn and some labeled “Samples” and “For Sale.”

  “Are selling some of your creations?” I wandered over to a box and tipped up the lid, pulling out a patchwork skirt. “Whoa.”

  I held up the maxi-length full skirt to get a better look. The patchwork was made up of mostly earth tones in a corduroy-like material with a few brighter splashes of color here and there that shouldn’t have matched but somehow worked perfectly.

  “Yeah, I have a few pieces that I’ve sewn and knitted that I’m going to sell.

  The skirt was more gypsy than punk, not at all something I’d expect Natasha to make, and I was falling in love with it, despite the fact that I rarely wore skirts.

  “I’m going to put up a display over there.” She waved her hand over to a corner with naked manikins and empty coat hangers. Thankfully, they were the kind of manikins without faces. For some reason, the more expressive ones creeped me right out.

  My eyes wandered the blank walls. “So what are you going to do about decorating?”

  “I’m going to start out with some pieces with framed instructions posted underneath. Some simple, some not so. Usually, shops will just hang up a pair of socks and are like, ‘Aren’t these pretty?’ But there is nothing said about them.”

  “Cool.” I tore myself away from the patchwork skirt, refolding it and placing it back in the cardboard box. “I suppose we should get started then.”

  “Good call, good call. Come on over to the lounge area. I set this up so people can actually hang out here and knit, or read, and so on. I’m gonna keep a pot of coffee on like you ladies do, and a carafe of hot water for tea and hot cocoa drinkers. Any takes on that? I’ve got the coffee brewing.” She led me over to a corner, complete with fake wood stove that was actually throwing off heat. At least I think it was fake, it looked like there was a flame inside, but there was no pipe, and I doubt she could have been coded for a fire in that place. Maybe it was hooked up to a propane tank? Or maybe she was fae and it was either an illusion, or she was able to contain the fire and the smoke. It was a toss-up.

  “I better pass on the coffee, caffeine revs me up, and I’m here to get settled down, remember?” I took a seat on a roomy, overstuffed couch.

  Natasha nodded and poured herself a cup, adding a generous amount of creamer from the fridge set up under the table and a couple packets of raw sugar.

  “Gee, do you like some coffee with your cream?”

  She winked at me. “Just a dab.”

  “How are you not 500 pounds?”

  “High metabolism.” She sat by me and pulled out a canvas bag with two pairs of knitting needles sticking out, setting her coffee down on one of the little round end tables that were placed randomly around the sitting area.

  Or a body used to a higher calorie fae diet? They liked their sugar. I just wanted to know: was she or wasn’t she? I wasn’t going to come right out and ask her though. That would be considered rude.

  “All right.” She pulled out two skeins of yarn. “What color do you want? Your choices are red,” she held up one blood colored one, “or green.” She held up the other spruce tone.

  “Red, please.” I held out my hand and accepted the soft wool.

  “This is merino, and it’s washable, pretty soft. First, we’re gonna roll them into balls, they’re easier to work with that way.” She started out by wrapping one of the loose ends of yarn around three fingers, until she had a little chunk, then pulled it off and started winding around the little piece the other way, then started turning it from time to time to start forming a ball.

  I found a loose end and imitated her process. I had to stop much more often than she did to detangle knots. Once, my ball rolled away after I set it down to figure out a particularly frustrating knot, and I was stuck rewrapping about a third of what I’d already done.

  “This is relaxing?” I muttered as I neared the end.

  “You’ll get the hang of it. That was the easy part, now we’re going to cast on. We’re going to use slightly larger needles than I’d normally recommend for this weight yarn, but the larger needles will make your project go faster and a little easier.” She handed me a thickish pair of bamboo needles with the number 11 on the ends. “All right, make a slip knot, like this.” She held her hands up while she demonstrated, and I copied and then slipped it over the end of the needle.

  “All right, now we’re going to cast on, stick your other needle through the front of the loop.” She scooted over until she was elbow to elbow with me, so I could look at hers and mine at the same time.

  She showed me how to wrap the yarn around the needle then slide it to the end so I could slip the little loop over the original needle, we did this seve
ral more times until there were 15 little loops.

  “Now, instead of slipping it onto your first needle you’re going to do this.” She stuck the needle in the front like before, and then wrapped the yarn around it, then slid the original loop of the end so the new loop rested on the second needle. How very confusing. I tried to copy her but dropped my stitch.

  “It’s not gone yet, you can still pick it up,” she instructed, so I did.

  Once I completed a few without incident, she watched me finish the row. “Good, now turn the right-hand needle and hold it in your left hand and continue right on. Knitting across the right side and the wrong side like that is called a garter stitch. Keep that up for a bit, I’m going to unpack some more things.

  She left me alone until I called out to her because I dropped a stitch. She told me not to move, then helped me pick it back up, which wasn’t too hard as long as I noticed.

  “All right, that’s enough for today. You keep working on that until you’re ready to finish off, then we’ll have another lesson.”

  “When do I do that?” I looked down at my four little rows and contemplated how long a scarf might be.

  “Before you hit the end of the yarn, preferably, but wrap it around your neck from time to time, and when it looks like a good length to you, then you’re done. Now scat, I’ve got work to do. I’ll be in some time soon for a cut and color after I get this place up on its feet.”

  I got up and gathered my yarn ball and my needles, which Natasha promptly took away from me. She stuck my needles through the ball, then capped the ends with little purple cones.

  “There, now you’re set. Those keep your stitches from falling off, and it’s easier to travel like that. You might want to get a bag or basket for your projects. It helps keep everything together and your yarn less likely to take a stroll.”

  I took my new project back from her. “Got it, thanks. I’m sure Percy has a spare basket lying around somewhere!”

  She ushered me to the door and handed me a scrap of paper. “All right, here’s my cell number. Call me anytime, but definitely call me when you’re ready for another lesson. Leave a message if I don’t answer. I hate texting, so don’t expect me to answer that.”