Wolf Town Read online

  I sat down quickly on the floor, knees collapsing beneath me.

  “You're a…” I coughed, put my hand over my chest, and quickly looked at the half-painted walls, at the black-and-white tiled floor—anywhere but at her beautiful naked body as she rose easily and started pulling on her panties as she chuckled.

  “I'm a werewolf!” she said brightly, and drew on her jeans with a wink. She took up her bra and shrugged into it. “It's terrible: these days, you hear 'werewolf' and you think dark, brooding teenager and unexplainable teenage cultural phenomenons. But I promise you,” she said, leaning over me in her bra and her jeans and her shirtless-ness. I looked into her eyes and willed my focus to stay there. Which it sort of did. “That’s not what real werewolves are like. My family? We’re the MacRue clan, and we’ve been werewolves for centuries. We came by boat to America. We founded Wolf Town.”

  She straightened and pulled the shirt over her head, tugging her long hair out of the neck hole and letting it fall over her shoulders in undulating red waves. Her grin was gigantic. And, as previously mentioned, very pointy.

  “Wolf Town,” she said, and crouched down beside me in one fluid motion, “is bound to surprise you.”

  “You could say that again…” I whispered, and looked up into her greener-than-green eyes.

  Perfectly serious, Morgan growled with a soft smile, “Wolf Town is bound to surprise you.”

  I laughed in spite of my shock.

  She winked and stood, offering her hand to me.

  “Thanks for not thinking I'm the hound of Satan!” she said brightly.

  “Thanks for not offering to burn me at the stake!” I returned, grinning, as I rose beside her.

  So, a werewolf, then.

  Sure. Why not?

  Chapter 4: The Strange

  Werewolves proved to be the norm in Wolf Town. Which, I was finding out, wasn’t a normal place at all. It was actually so far removed from normal that the address of normal might as well have been located in a different country.

  Or on a different planet.

  The next day, I was woken up by a ghost sitting on me. Winnie’s legs were crossed in front of her, Indian-style, and her hair was floating toward the ceiling as she peered down at me curiously. “There's someone at the door!” said Winnie with a wide, see-through smile. “And good morning!”

  “I thought we agreed the bedroom was off limits?” I said muzzily to the ceiling, because the resident ghost had already vanished.

  I got up, brushed my teeth, peed, drank some water, put on new clothes, ran a brush through my hair, and then—and only then—did I go answer the door, and I felt terrible about taking so long when I saw who it was: an older man with a perplexed expression. He looked apologetic when he took in my half-asleep state.

  “Hello. Sorry to wake you so early,” he said (the bathroom clock had read eleven thirty, by the way), “but I thought you should know we're having a bit of a water problem and have to shut the water off in, oh…” He looked at his watch. “Five minutes ago, actually. I should probably get headed down there now. You won't have water for the rest of the day, I'm afraid. Sorry about that!” He was already taking off down the stairs. “I'll be back when it's fixed!” he shouted over his shoulder, and then he was out the door.

  “That was Burt,” said Winnie helpfully, appearing on my right. “He owns this building and an apartment complex, I think. There’s trouble in the pipes,” she said then, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Bad, bad things in the pipes.”

  I blinked. I hadn’t drunk any coffee yet, so all of this felt like information overload. “What do you mean?” I asked her, frowning.

  “There's a monster in the pipes,” she said, face straight and serious, burning eyes still burning but somehow sympathetic. “Poor little thing. It's stuck something fierce.”

  “A monster,” I repeated slowly. God, did I need coffee. “In the water pipes.”

  “Yes, I saw it!” she said. She seemed as excited as someone (inexplicably) gets at a football game as she clapped her hands delightedly. “I feel bad for the little thing; he is quite cute. He's the son of the lake monster that lives behind Henry’s old place.”

  “Lake monster,” I repeated.

  Winnie nodded.

  I breathed out and tried not to be frustrated, or surprised, or alarmed.

  I threw on a hoodie and stuffed my hands into the front pocket. I didn't know whether I should believe Winnie about the monsters or not, but, after all, I was having a conversation with a ghost.

  So, really, anything was possible.

  “You should go tell poor Burt it’s a lake monster, so he doesn't do all sorts of unnecessary digging,” said Winnie, with a practical wave of her see-through hand.

  “Right, I’ll do that,” I said, and left the apartment with only one objective: the immediate acquisition of coffee. But as fate would have it, when I stepped into the Ninth Order, the guy who’d appeared at my door, Burt, was ordering a coffee to go.

  “Didn’t even introduce myself. Burt’s the name. I take it you’re Bette’s niece, Amy?” he said, offering a hand to me with a wide smile. I shook his hand with a small smile of my own and nodded. “I've had the darndest time with maintenance this year…” he was saying, but I kind of got distracted by Morgan, who was watching me from behind the counter with one red eyebrow up as she angled me her gorgeous crooked smile.

  “I was telling Burt that I think it's the lake monster's offspring again, getting into the well and then the pipes,” said Morgan, leaning on the counter, her voice a low growl. “What do you think, Amy?”

  I blinked.

  Burt laughed a little and sighed. “Lake monsters…” he muttered, taking up his to-go coffee cup and leaving as he continued to mutter about excavations and pest control.

  Morgan waved a hand after him and leaned toward me a little more, her full lips parted. I swallowed as she licked them slowly and deliberately, sharp teeth bared. “What did I tell you? Wolf Town’s a weird place.” She pushed off from the counter and straightened, turning toward the espresso maker. “The usual for you, Miss Amy?” The way she said my name made my knees tremble.

  I smiled at her. “Do I have a usual?”

  “Yes. I never forget a drink,” she said resolutely, her voice low as she smiled and began to steam some milk.

  “Nice to see you again, Amy!” said Victor, grinning toothily at me as he wiped down the counter. “Morgan was telling me how well you took her werewolf news. Good on you!”

  I glanced around with wide eyes, but the place was devoid of alien conventiongoers this morning. I was actually the only person in the place besides Morgan and Victor.

  “Uh, thanks?” I said, and coughed a little.

  “Hey,” he said sympathetically, as he reached across the counter to pat my hand, “no worries. A witch will fit in perfectly here.”

  His hand was very cold to the touch. Cold…not warm, like Morgan’s. I shook my head and laughed a little. “So, lemme guess—you’re a vampire?”

  Victor laughed, too. “Is it that obvious? Morgan, really, you should remind me when I have to file down my teeth—”

  “I’d have to remind you every day, Victor!” She shook her head as she mixed the espresso and milk.

  I glanced from Morgan to Victor with wide eyes. Maybe I should have expected vampires, given the helpful, conversational ghost and the too-sexy-for-words werewolf. Still, it’s a little surreal.

  “There are actually lots of vampires in Wolf Town, from all sorts of different clans. I'm one of the most, heh, normal ones we have,” Victor said, winking.

  “Okaaaay,” I said slowly, putting my elbows on the counter. I mean, all of the telltale signs were present (if Hollywood movies are to be believed): Victor had really pointy teeth, a very pale complexion, and his skin was as cold as a Maine winter.

  “Um,” I began uncertainly, “can you guys tell me how non-‘normal’ Wolf Town really is? Like, how strange is it exactly? So that I don’
t keep getting the wind knocked out of me…”

  Morgan set the paper cup in its sleeve and placed it in front of me. She winked again—long, slow, deliberate. “On the house, darlin',” she murmured softly.

  Victor rolled his eyes. “Hey! I give out the free lattes around here.”

  They chuckled for a moment together, but then their expressions became a little more serious as Victor shrugged uncomfortably and Morgan folded her arms, green eyes narrowed.

  “Well, you should know that ‘strange’ is a relative term,” said Victor thoughtfully.

  “Okay,” I tried again. “For example: is there really a lake monster living in the water pipes?”

  Morgan cocked her head and considered. “Well, it’s a theory,” she said thoughtfully. “Ellie has been reproducing like crazy, so one of her offspring could have swum off—”

  “Nope. I, for one, think it’s one of those mermaids,” said Victor, shaking his head. “They wander up the rivers from the ocean, then get lost in the miles of pipes. It’s happened before,” he added, for my benefit.

  “Okay,” I repeated; I felt a little lightheaded, but I kept going. “So…are there unicorns?” I asked.

  Victor and Morgan looked at one another. Morgan nodded her head a little while Victor shook his.

  “There have been rumors,” said Morgan, inconclusively.

  “Bigfoot?”

  “When they migrate, yes,” offered Victor.

  “Aliens?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “The Easter bunny?”

  Victor sighed and shook his head, laughing. “That’s just plain mean. We’re strange, not creepy.”

  “Tell you what,” said Morgan, leaping over the counter, gesturing toward a comfy-looking couch. “Follow me…”

  We both sat down, while Victor busied himself with washing a tray full of already-clean glasses.

  “You know what I should do?” Morgan said, leaning forward and brazenly patting my leg. Her hand lingered on my thigh. “I should take you around town, show you all the sights and haunts, give you a bit of local lore... That way, you can see the strange for yourself.” Again, that mischievous crooked smile appeared. I loved the way it turned up the corner of her mouth, as if she were imparting an intimate secret. “Does that sound good to you? I’ll show you all the weird and wonderful parts of Wolf Town, and you’ll fall in love with the place despite—or because of—its weird, wonderful charms?”

  I had no idea what I was in for.

  But I promised to find out at five.

  Her warm palm remained on my thigh. I stared down at it; she still wore a ring on her left-hand ring finger. Was she taken? There was a word inscribled on the ring in a tiny font, but it was impossible for me to make out what it said, because Morgan removed her hand and rose with a wide, roguish smile.

  “Five,” she said, nodding, smiling. “It's a date.”

  I stared after her as she moved behind the counter. Then I ducked my head to hide the hot blush creeping across my cheeks.

  Good heavens, I had it bad.

  ---

  The only problem with charming, New England, almost-seaside towns is that grocery stores are a little difficult to locate. Grocery stores, in and of themselves, aren’t necessarily reknowned for being pretty places. Or rife with charm. They’re sprawling megaliths that no New England town wants featured on their main drag, fluorescent lights ruining the small-town ambiance.

  Wolf Town proved no exception to this rule. I had to Google where the nearest grocery store was or face starvation—all thanks to time-honored Main Street aesthetics.

  And, no, I didn’t want to raid my poor aunt’s industrial-size refrigerator downstairs. That was for the café. And her own fridge up in the apartment? Yeah, it held a half-empty jar of pickles.

  Technically, I probably could have survived the evening on a half-empty jar of pickles. I just wouldn’t have enjoyed my dinner much.

  The closest grocery store I could find was very, very small. It bore a vintage cartoon of a piglet sprawled over the looping cursive name on the sign. That cartoon pig was more than a little creepy, and I tried not to look at it as I went into the building.

  “Welcome to Pig’n’Bucks!” said the greeter guy, handing me a bright blue shopping basket. Despite his exclamation, he didn’t appear remotely enthusiastic, but still—this was better service than I’d ever been given in a megalithic supermarket. I wandered down the fresh produce aisle, trying to find sprouts, when I got that pricking little feeling in between my shoulderblades that indicated that someone was probably starin at me.

  I turned…

  And someone was staring at me.

  An older gentleman walked down the grocery store aisle in my direction, pushing a small cart. His hair was gray and carefully combed back from his forehead, and he wore a dark blue sweater and jeans. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, and as he held a wrinkled hand out to me, I realized he looked a little familiar.

  “Amy?” he asked when he got closer, and I nodded with a confused frown.

  His smile deepened. “I thought that must be you! You’re an unfamilar face here in town, and my daughter’s already told me a bit about you. I’m Allen MacRue, Morgan’s father.”

  Ah, yes. Totally. That smile was a dead ringer for Morgan’s—wide, mischievous, and kind of wolfish.

  I smiled back at him and accepted his hand. His clasp was warm and firm, and as we shook with a friendly formality, I considered the fact that I was probably shaking hands with the second werewolf I’d ever met in my life.

  “How are you liking our little town?” he asked, with genuine interest.

  I replied politely, said some dull things about the weather, the time of year, how beautiful Wolf Town was... His hand—not the one I’d shaken, but his left hand—had a ring on it that reminded me of the ring Morgan wore.

  “When my family built Wolf Town, they built it out of a lot of things,” he said then, leaning forward, pleasantries done. “It may seem strange to you,” he smiled, “but they built it of protection, and they built it of love. And I tell you this”—he raised a finger—“not to bore you with details, my dear, but to explain to you that only the creatures that needed a sanctuary, that needed Wolf Town would be permitted to enter, whether they be human, or—well, something else entirely.

  “The town itself has always kept out everything bad, everything…intolerant or unkind.” He coughed a little into his hand. “I promise you: everyone who came here needed this place. Present company not excepted. Wolf Town takes care of her own,” he said, words soft. “She’s a very special town.” There was a forceful tone to his words now, and it made me feel a little uncomfortable.

  “Mm,” I nodded, as he stared at me, unblinking, his flashing green eyes narrowing to small, bright slits.

  “You’ll need to ask yourself, in the next little while, Miss Amy, whether you’re one of us, really one of us,” he said. “Wolf Town’s own.” He tipped his head to me, said, “Good day,” and then he was whistling something just a little out of tune, pushing his cart up the aisle with a strong, confident stride.

  I watched him walk away, wiping my hand on my jeans.

  I never did find the damn sprouts.

  Chapter 5: The Pond

  My water was still turned off when I got home, so I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and tried not to worry too much about how I looked (though I did change my shirt—twice), because, really, it didn’t matter. There was a ring on Morgan’s finger, which meant that she was Totally Taken.

  She met me at the café’s front door. She smelled of coffee and vanilla, and when she turned toward me, her waterfall of red hair cascading over one shoulder, that spiciness emanated from her, too. The very scent of her made me weak at the knees, and when she smiled at me, my heart somersaulted in my chest.

  “Ready?” she asked, her voice growly and so low that I shivered.

  “Yeah,” I told her.

  She inclined her head toward me with a s
mall, wolfish smile and held the door open as we walked out into the cool autumn afternoon. Shoulder to shoulder, we began to stroll down the sidewalk.

  “So, let me give you a little history lesson,” she smiled crookedly, looking very, very much like her father. The family resemblance was striking. I’d have to tell her later that I met him.

  “Wolf Town,” she intoned, gesturing broadly with her arms to encompass the entirety of Main Street, “was founded by the MacRue clan. My family,” she said, tilting her head toward me, and then burying her hands deep in her coat pockets. “We came over in the early sixteen hundreds—werewolves, of course—and founded a town where we couldn't be persecuted for being who we were, what we were, openly. So, of course, the town was founded as a sanctuary for the strange, the different, and—because of that reason, I think—it's attracted all sorts of other…oddities.”

  A gust of wind chose that moment to dance across the twilit streets, kicking up brightly colored leaves in its wake. The sound of their skitter across the pavement, the scent of leaves burning in some nearby backyard and fallen on the sidewalk, filled my senses. Autumn had come to New England, yes, but autumn seemed to have passionately claimed Wolf Town more possessively than anyplace I’d ever experienced before.

  “I'm glad you're here,” said Morgan then, surprising me. She wasn't looking at me, was glancing down at the sidewalk in front of us, but when I looked over toward her, she met my eyes with her own intense gaze. Her mouth turned up at the corners a little, and I tucked that image in my heart. She was beautiful all the time, but when she smiled...wow. There were sparks, almost visible sparks, that danced back and forth between us. She charmed me utterly, bewitched me utterly, captivated and enchanted me, with her low, throaty voice, her sense of humor, her small acts of random kindness, the way she looked at me.

  God, I had it bad.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said again, her gaze pinning me to the spot. She licked her lips, tucked a stray strand of bright red hair behind her ear. She rocked back on her heels, gazed up at the brightly colored trees overhead. “I mean, we have a lot in common,” she added helpfully.