《Wolf for Hire》


 Chapter 1

    I came home to an eviction notice taped to my door¡ªtechnically, a Notice to Vacate, but that was just legalese for get the hell out. I, Allison Jane Avery, had 24 hours to pack up my things and leave, to dismantle the life I¡¯d barely held together.


    Well, not exactly 24 hours. The notice had been time-stamped for 6 a.m., just an hour after I¡¯d left for work. By now, it was nearly two in the afternoon. The logical side of me knew I had a day¡ªone more day¡ªto figure things out. But the part of me that was already stretched too thin? Well, that part just wanted to curl up on the doorstep and call it quits.


    I barely had time to shower, grab a few things, and make my afternoon appointment. The notice stayed taped to the door, mocking me as I headed for the bathroom. I peeled off my clothes and tossed them onto the washing machine before stepping into my tiny, cramped shower. The water was freezing when I stepped in, but I didn¡¯t have time for the ancient water heater to warm up¡ªmy landlady, Ms. Patterson, would probably have it fixed in time for the next tenant. The cold water beat against my skin, and I tried to shake the tightness spreading through my chest.


    Don¡¯t panic, I told myself. You¡¯ve got one more day. Just get through tonight. Worry about tomorrow... tomorrow.


    I tried to focus on something else¡ªlike work. The morning shift at The Moxy had been its usual disaster. We were short-staffed again. Felicia¡ªor was it Francesca¡ªhad no-showed, so I was stuck training Kayla, the high schooler. Kayla¡ªbless her heart¡ªhad enthusiasm. What she didn¡¯t have was a clue.


    She was still struggling to ring up customers, tell coffees apart, and open egg-bite packages. I didn¡¯t know whether to laugh or cry as, five minutes in, she was still wrestling with the same plastic-wrapped egg-bites. Honestly, if you couldn¡¯t open them in 10 seconds, they weren¡¯t meant to be opened to begin with.


    I had to step in when Kayla accidentally served a caramel mocha latte instead of a caramel mocha macchiato. To be fair, they¡¯re basically the same damn thing¡ªbut you add a little too much steamed milk and you¡¯d think you shot their mother. I apologized for the mistake, remade the ''macchiato'', and moved on¡ªonly to deal with the wave of customers demanding refunds because what they ordered on the app wasn¡¯t available in-store.


    I¡¯d come to accept that working at The Moxy meant dealing with impatient customers. The caf¨¦ was part of a larger hotel¡ªa Marriott property that tried too hard to be hip and modern but felt more like a glorified hostel. The place had a way of making people feel like they weren¡¯t getting what they paid for. Between the fancy sixth-floor check-in and a valet that parked your car on the street out front, our coffee shop became their favorite punching bag.


    I stuck with it because my apartment was only 100 yards away¡ªjust across Highway 17, which required a 15-minute detour. While driving was faster, parking took longer than walking.


    By the time I had gotten home, my jeans and long-sleeved turtleneck were drenched in sweat, and clung to me. In the June heat (soon to be July), with the humidity that came with living on the coast, I felt like a roasted amphibian. Constantly sticky.


    I tried to lose myself in the icy shower, but the eviction notice kept creeping back into my thoughts. Twenty-four hours¡ªnow eighteen. That¡¯s all I had. And tomorrow? Tomorrow would be its own disaster.


    I had hoped the court would hold off until after the 4th, but Ms. Patterson¡ªever the opportunist¡ªmust¡¯ve pulled some strings to expedite the process. She had her eyes on flipping the place for tourist season.


    Patterson, a divorced fifty-something, had it out for the old tenants¡ªthose of us lucky enough to be grandfathered into pre-pandemic leases. With rent increases capped at 2% a year for annual leases, we didn¡¯t fit into her shiny, gentrified vision for the place. And she wasn¡¯t shy about using every legal loophole to shove us out.


    Patterson had tried to evict me for late rent before, but South Carolina law gave me a five-day grace period¡ªjust enough time to scrape together what I owed and keep the wolves at bay. Well, most of them. The car payments and student loans were a different beast.


    Sure, on occasion, I had to take shifts at King Street Cabaret or Club Cheetah to meet rent, but waiting tables there paid good money. I just had to discard my shirt¡ªand my dignity.


    This time, Patterson didn¡¯t come after me for rent. Nope¡ªthis time, it was for breaking the building¡¯s strict no-pet policy. The irony? I didn¡¯t even have a pet. But try explaining that in court when there¡¯s hair everywhere, reports of howling, claw marks on the walls, and dog food cans in your trash.


    What was I supposed to say? The truth? Judge Childs would¡¯ve held me in contempt. She already had little patience for me, because we had... a bit of a history.


    Patterson had been crafty. Two months ago, she slapped me with a Notice to Cease and Cure, citing the no-pet clause in my lease. I¡¯d been careful about cleaning up the hair and fixing the scratches, so I figured someone must¡¯ve complained. I made a mental note to be even more careful. Problem solved, right?


    Nope.


    Instead, Patterson snuck into my apartment to gather evidence. Legally, she had to give me 24 hours¡¯ notice, but it wasn¡¯t like a court summons. It didn¡¯t need to be hand-delivered. So, of course, she left it in the one place she knew I¡¯d never look: my mailbox.


    I mean, it was 2023¡ªeverything¡¯s supposed to be paperless. How was I supposed to know there¡¯d be something important in the mailbox when all it ever held were credit card offers, magazine subscriptions, and Alumni Society donation requests? Everything else I cared about got delivered to my door.


    The last important thing I got in the mail was my W-2 in March. Had I known Patterson was going to pop by, I would¡¯ve had the place spotless¡ªscrubbed, vacuumed, scratches on the floor buffed out, claw marks on the wall plastered over, and trash hauled down the street.


    But of course, she knew I¡¯d do something like that. Which is probably why she pulled that sneaky little stunt in the first place.


    Was I mad at Ms. Patterson? Yeah, obviously. But it wasn¡¯t the kind of anger that burns¡ªit was more of a hollow frustration. She got to keep her cat, Kettle Corn¡ªan orange and yellow furball that scratched anyone who got close, including her¡ªwhile banning the rest of us from pets. Well, the old tenants, anyway. But really, who was I to judge? I was once an accountant; exploiting the rules to help clients dodge taxes was basically my job.


    Patterson played by the rules, all right¡ªmalicious compliance at its finest. That¡¯s how she built her ironclad case and won. She simply demonstrated my failure to Cease and Cure. Sure, I was screwed, but I wasn¡¯t a sore loser. And hell, after what happened to Kettle Corn, maybe I deserved it. Missing cat posters covered the complex, and Patterson flooded Facebook with daily updates. There was even a poster taped to the telephone pole outside my entrance, so I got to look at his furry little face every morning. But hey, I guess I didn¡¯t need to feel guilty anymore. Patterson got her revenge¡ªwhether she knew it or not.


    If there was one thing I was still bitter about, it was Judge Childs letting Patterson keep my security deposit. Almost $2,500¡ªtwo months¡¯ rent. That was my money, and I needed it. Then again, maybe Patterson needed it more. I mean, how else was she going to replace the water heater for the next tenant? Not like I needed it to pay off my car or anything.


    Yeah, I cried myself to sleep that night, but that had been it. Yet now, under the cold spray of the shower, those thoughts surged back to the forefront. That notice on the door had restarted the vicious cycle. One more failure to add to the pile¡ªeach one chipping away at the person I used to be.


    Once, I was an accountant. A professional. Someone with a future. Now? I was barely holding it together, becoming someone I no longer recognized.


    Once an accountant, now a barista. Once in control, now¡­ fighting the moon.


    Focus on the practicalities, AJ, I told myself. Life is like running a small business. You are Allison Jane LLC. Recent expenditures have exceeded the current revenue, and you are running a trade deficit. Now you are downsizing and relocating. These things happen to all young startups. Just keep costs low and boost revenue, and you¡¯ll be out of the red soon enough.


    Patterson might have won this round, but I still had a job to do and bills piling up. The eviction notice? Just another hurdle in a long line of them. I couldn¡¯t afford to dwell on the past¡ªbetter to focus on what was coming next and forget the past. Those were memories lost in time, like tears in the shower.


    I stepped out of the shower, toweling off and throwing my still dripping hair into a quick updo¡ªfunctional, nothing fancy. A dress shirt, skirt, and ballet flats would work for both my appointment and the storage run. I¡¯d top it off with my black Talbot blazer¡ªretailed for nearly $200, but I snagged it at Goodwill for $7 and got it tailored for $15.


    I had an afternoon appointment with Mrs. Willerby, one of the few clients I had retained from my time at Muckenfuss. The extra cash barely kept me afloat, but these clients let me cling to the image of myself as an accountant¡ªcrumbling though it may be.


    I worked at Muckenfuss for almost four years¡ªfirst as an intern in college, then full-time after I graduated. I was furloughed for a year during the pandemic, then brought back part-time after the lockdown was lifted. Muckenfuss was an old-fashioned firm, catering mostly to elderly clients who still mailed in their taxes. My job involved endless manual bookkeeping and auditing¡ªdouble-checking digital records against physical ones. Lots of typing, lots of spreadsheets. Mr. Muckenfuss, the firm¡¯s owner, was a bit of a Luddite, preferring low-tech solutions. He also enjoyed playing country radio¡ª98.5 Classic Country¡ªover the intercom. Thanks to this, my technical skills atrophied while George Strait, Tim McGraw, and the Dixie Chicks lived rent-free in my brain.


    When the pandemic hit, Muckenfuss struggled. The firm lacked the infrastructure for remote work, and with many clients either passing away from sickness or ripe old age, revenue plummeted. Mr. Muckenfuss, who was well past retirement age, decided to sell the firm to a larger, more modern company.


    I was one of the first to be laid off in the downsizing. My manual bookkeeping skills had become obsolete, replaced by AI tools. I didn¡¯t qualify for senior positions, and entry-level jobs went to recent grads with better technical skills. As for internships? My misdemeanors were still being expunged, so I wasn¡¯t exactly a strong candidate there either¡ªbut the court hadn¡¯t seen fit to expedite those now, had they?


    I kept a few old clients who insisted on paper billing and checks, but it wasn¡¯t enough to live on. So, I called up Candice, my old boss from high school. She didn¡¯t need an accountant, but she did need baristas. Almost ten years later, there I was¡ªback behind the counter, basically her assistant manager in all but name¡ªand salary.


    I liked Candice. She was fair and even taught a women¡¯s self-defense class in West Ashley, which she let me take for free. I would¡¯ve loved an official promotion and salary to match my responsibilities, but hey, it was something. And living alone on the edge of downtown and North Charleston, learning to defend myself felt like a solid life choice.


    I didn¡¯t love working at The Moxy¡ªhonestly, I hated it¡ªbut I stuck around for Candice. She gave me a job when I needed it, no questions asked, and let me work whatever weird hours I needed as long as I gave her a week¡¯s notice. My availability could be scheduled months in advance, since it was literally written in the stars. Or, well, technically the moon.


    My finances, however, remained precarious thanks to a series of legal battles that had eaten through my savings. Waking up in random parks or gardens¡ªnaked and confused¡ªtended to incur fines. The first few times, I managed to talk my way out of it, just another college student who partied too hardy.


    But the morning poor Ms. Ursly found me in her garden? Not so much. Her screams brought the neighbors, and the neighbors brought the cops, which is how I ended up standing in front of Judge Childs for trespassing and indecent exposure. The first of many.


    Judge Childs was a fixture in Charleston¡¯s courts¡ªstrict but fair, with a stare that could wither even the toughest defendant. Tough as she was, though, I always sensed something else¡ªdisappointment, maybe? Like she was tired of seeing people like me, wasting potential.


    The first time I stood in front of her, I was on the verge of tears, babbling excuses. I wasn¡¯t a criminal¡ªI didn¡¯t even understand what was happening. I was as bewildered as Ms. Ursly, who had fainted after finding a woman, naked, under her rosemary bushes.


    Misdemeanors like trespassing and indecent exposure went straight to magistrate court, where Judge Childs was judge, jury, and prosecutor. It was no exaggeration that she put the fear of God in me. I stammered through my defense, trying to explain the inexplicable without sounding completely insane. I¡¯m sure I just came off like another troublemaker or drug addict trying to wriggle out of the consequences of their actions. It wasn¡¯t like she could understand my condition¡ªhow could she? How could any reasonable person understand? Hell, even I still didn¡¯t fully understand it.


    In her strict way, though, I think she knew there was more to me and my story than met the eye. Over time, as I kept showing up in her courtroom, a strange dynamic formed.


    ¡°Get your act together, Miss Avery,¡± she¡¯d say after each hearing. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t want this to reach circuit court.¡±


    Sure, repeat misdemeanors could be bumped up to a felony, but this didn¡¯t feel like a threat¡ªat least, I didn¡¯t think it was. It was more like a command, maybe even a weird form of encouragement. Like she actually hoped I¡¯d get my act together. She didn¡¯t like me, but at least I didn¡¯t think she was out to get me.


    Not that it made the ruling on my security deposit sting any less¡ªtough love is the best love, I guess.


    I eventually got the first set of charges expunged after a neurologist diagnosed me with somnambulism¡ªsleepwalking. That helped prove I wasn¡¯t doing this on purpose. But after a few more episodes of waking up naked in random yards and gardens, usually around Hampton Park or poor Ms. Ursly¡¯s, I nearly pushed Judge Childs into ruling I was negligent in managing my condition. Luckily, that one got tossed out.


    On top of the sleepwalking, I started growing hair¡ªfast. Every month, I looked like I hadn¡¯t shaved in weeks after only days. The doctors called it hirsutism, maybe caused by an endocrine disorder. Blood tests showed abnormal hormone levels, so they suspected PCOS¡ªpolycystic ovary syndrome. They said PCOS could mess with my mood and sleep, maybe even explain my sleepwalking. They put me on hormonal birth control, and, when given the choice, I went with the rod implant over daily pills. Good ol¡¯ set-and-forget.


    That ended up saving me¡ªwhen I landed in front of Judge Childs again, I could at least prove I was following my treatment.


    It just hadn¡¯t worked.


    That¡¯s why Judge Childs ordered me to attend state-mandated psychiatric counseling. Just because the treatment hadn¡¯t worked didn¡¯t mean I was absolved from continuing to manage my condition (if only you could use a return receipt to refund a medical treatment). It was a tough ruling, but fair¡ªI guess. Tough because now that I was 27, the costs came out of my pocket¡ªno more relying on my parents¡¯ health insurance. Hooray for more expenses.


    Not to demean Dr. Anderson. She was great at helping me manage my anxiety. But anxiety wasn¡¯t the real problem; it just made everything worse. The real problem was paying $230 for two 45-minute sessions. That was more than a week¡¯s pay, all for a twice-a-month appointment. But I digress.


    I stepped out of my apartment, lugging the first box to my car. Most of the packing was done¡ªI¡¯d started the day I got the court summons. All that was left were the essentials: some clothes, toiletries, a few appliances. The fridge was down to half a six-pack and some canned dog food. One or two more trips to the storage unit, and I¡¯d be done. But first, I had an appointment¡ªand I was running short on time.


    I slid into my black Nissan Altima, and fifteen minutes later, I was pulling into Mrs. Willerby¡¯s driveway. I parked behind her car, a silver Camry, threw on my blazer, grabbed my bag, and hustled up the brick steps. I knocked with the wrought-iron knocker¡ª2:30 on the dot. Sure, I had to commit a few traffic violations en route, but, as for any true-blooded South Carolinian, red lights were more of a suggestion, and I prided myself on punctuality.


    Mrs. Willerby, who was old enough to be my grandmother, opened the door with a warm smile. She lived in the Old Village, Mount Pleasant¡¯s historic district, in an English-style house from the 1800s. Her late husband, an Air Force Colonel who served as a dentist, had a passion for collecting old tools¡ªdental, medical, automotive. They were mounted on the walls of the main hall and study, giving the house a museum-like feel. Mrs. Willerby, meanwhile, had a collection of dolls displayed upstairs throughout the bedrooms and guest rooms.


    Such an old house like hers needed constant upkeep, and Mrs. Willerby had plenty of hired help to keep it spotless. I guessed she paid them under the table¡ªno bills for housekeeping services ever showed up. Not that I blamed her. She wasn¡¯t exactly broke, thanks to savings and her husband¡¯s military benefits, but after eight decades on this planet, she juggled more bills than she could handle (the inevitability of Ol¡¯ Benjamin¡¯s death by taxes). Cash was just easier¡ªless hassle, fewer bills¡ªno taxes.


    She paid me under the table too. Technically, you¡¯re supposed to report any cash wages over $20 a month, but that only applies to actual jobs¡ªnot hobbies, like a street musician getting tips. So when clients paid me cash, I listed the work as pro bono, and the cash? Tips for my hobby services. With Mrs. Willerby, and most of my elderly clients, my ¡®hobby¡¯ was playing surrogate granddaughter.


    Hey, it saved me from paying 10% in federal income tax and 7% in state. Don¡¯t knock it till you try it.


    Mrs. Willerby had kept me on since my Muckenfuss days, hiring me once a week to help track expenses and pay bills. Once a month would¡¯ve been enough, but I figured she was more interested in company than financial consulting. From what I knew, her kids all lived out of state and only showed up around the holidays. She had five grandkids, most of them around my age. She often talked about them fondly.


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    Mrs. Willerby greeted me with a warm hug, mentioning how hot I must be in my work clothes, and invited me in. A neat stack of receipts and bills waited on the dining room table. Thankfully, we didn¡¯t need to go upstairs¡ªthose beady-eyed dolls always gave me the creeps, made me feel like I was being watched.


    I pulled out my old MacBook, the same one I¡¯d had since freshman year. Plugged it in, opened the lid, and waited for the dinosaur to boot up before diving into the stack of bills, entering everything into an Excel spreadsheet. To hell with TurboTax and QuickBooks¡ªI was convinced there wasn¡¯t anything a software developer could do that I couldn¡¯t pull off in Excel. Hell, I could program it to play Tetris, were I so inclined. Besides, I wasn¡¯t going to pay for a subscription. Not on my budget.


    As I entered numbers into the spreadsheet, Mrs. Willerby brought out coffee, teacakes, and her famous pimento cheese sandwiches. I loved those sandwiches, and I was starving, but I paced myself¡ªwhite bread always gave me hiccups if I ate it too fast. Genetics, I suppose. I took my coffee with cream and sugar, stirring it with my finger when Mrs. Willerby wasn¡¯t looking. No way I was touching the sterling silver teaspoon¡ªwouldn¡¯t want to tarnish it. Not that it felt like scalding hot iron against my skin or anything.


    It didn¡¯t take long to finish logging her expenses and helping her write out checks. I¡¯d offered¡ªinsisted, really¡ªto set her up with online payments, but she still preferred physical checks she could hold and touch. We worked together sealing the checks into their respective return envelopes. Once we were done, she struck up a conversation. Her family was coming down this weekend for the 4th of July, and they¡¯d be having a cookout.


    ¡°My grandson¡¯s coming down this evening,¡± Mrs. Willerby said, her eyes twinkling. ¡°He¡¯s starting his residency at the medical university this fall. You should stop by the cookout¡ªI¡¯d love to introduce you two.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got plans,¡± I lied quickly. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ moving to a new place.¡±


    I almost said I¡¯d be spending it with family, but they lived just down the road in The Grove¡ªand I remembered that Mrs. Willerby would see them this Sunday at St. Andrews Presbyterian. Such a bold-faced lie would have had a short shelf life. And technically, I wasn¡¯t lying about moving. It was, at worst, a half-truth. But now the conversation had shifted to me¡ªhow work was going, how I was doing, why I was moving.


    As much as I wanted to open up to someone, I couldn¡¯t tell one of my clients¡ªsomeone I was supposed to represent financially¡ªthat my own finances were a mess. A cobbler whose kids had no shoes doesn¡¯t exactly inspire confidence, and I cared about my reputation. And, as much as I was just a stand-in for her real grandkids, the last thing I wanted was for her to find out about my arrests for public nudity. In her eyes, I was an angel, and I cherished the thought.


    Better to steer the conversation somewhere neutral¡ªor maybe something exciting, like the chokehold Candice taught me to do with just my legs.


    I¡¯d scheduled the appointment for an hour, but our chat stretched much longer. Not that I minded, and I wasn¡¯t going to nickel-and-dime Mrs. Willerby for it either¡ªespecially when she made such nice snacks. But, there was something about tea time with my grandma-by-proxy that made the hours slip away a little too quickly.


    My phone alarm startled me, reminding me how late it was. I still had to hit the storage unit, so I hurriedly packed up. But when Mrs. Willerby offered to send me off with a doggy bag of leftover tea cakes and sandwiches, I lingered a second longer. I tried to decline¡ªdidn¡¯t want to feel like a little girl getting a packed lunch¡ªbut her insistence, and the pimento cheese, won me over. Besides, who was I to deny a sweet Southern lady her generosity?


    ¡°St. Andrews this Sunday?¡± Mrs. Willerby asked as she walked me to the door. Her voice was warm, but there was a hint of loneliness under the Southern drawl. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen you there in a while.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯ll be busy moving this weekend.¡± Hopefully, I didn¡¯t add.


    ¡°Then I suppose I¡¯ll see you next Friday,¡± she said, patting my arm.


    ¡°About that... Can we, uh, push it to the 14th? In case your family¡¯s still in town? I wouldn¡¯t want to intrude.¡± And because I might be in jail again¡ªI didn¡¯t add that part either.


    ¡°Oh, nonsense, you¡¯re always welcome. They¡¯d love to meet you. Though, I think most of them will be gone by then.¡± Mrs. Willerby smiled as she handed me the doggy bag and an envelope with my payment.


    I charged $50 an hour¡ª$25 if you factored in the hour we spent chatting. That was less than half of what most personal accountants in Charleston charged. But I still honored the old Muckenfuss rates for my clients (the company was long gone, but its ghost lingered). The envelope had ¡®Allison¡¯ written on it, and it reminded me of how my own grandparents used to give me money for Christmas or birthdays. What was it about grandmas that always made you feel like a kid?


    ¡°Next Friday then?¡± she asked, a hint of hope in her voice, as she hugged me goodbye.


    I sighed. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll add it to my schedule.¡± I slipped the envelope into my bag and hugged her back. I waved as I got into my car, started it up, and pulled out of the driveway.


    Something gnawed at my stomach¡ªand it wasn¡¯t just hunger. I shouldn¡¯t have felt guilty. She paid me weekly for what was really a monthly service, but it¡¯s not like I was overcharging her. She clearly enjoyed my company. Still, it just didn¡¯t feel right, getting paid for what was basically a social visit. Hell, I¡¯d show up just for the snacks and conversation. Maybe I should spend more time with her.


    Or maybe I should just go to that cookout¡ªfree food and a chance to network. And Mrs. Willerby would be happy to see me.


    I cranked the AC as I drove to the storage unit¡ªmy car had been baking in the sun while I was at Mrs. Willerby¡¯s. My blazer was safe in its travel bag, but the rest of my clothes? Sweat-soaked and in desperate need of dry-cleaning. The AC could only do so much to combat a Carolina summer.


    By 5:15 p.m., I pulled into the storage facility and punched in the code. The place sat next to a truck service station, the air thick with diesel fumes and the constant rumble of engines. Rows of sheet metal storage units lined the black asphalt, shimmering in the heat. Just looking at them made my whole body break out in itchy beads of perspiration.


    My storage unit¡ªmore of a storage closet, really¡ªwas a 5''x5'' space that cost me $17.50 a month. It held all of my worldly possessions that weren¡¯t tucked away in my parents¡¯ attic. It had become an oven under the afternoon sun, and rearranging the boxes in the sweltering heat left me dripping and gasping for air. To top it off, I had the hiccups from scarfing down too many of Mrs. Willerby¡¯s sandwiches on the drive over. Too much hunger, too little self-control, and not a drop to drink.


    In a fit of discomfort, I stripped down to just a sports bra and leggings. No one was around, and from a distance, I could¡¯ve passed for a jogger. Up close, though, it was a different story. The hair on my body was turning more fur-like by the minute¡ª6 p.m. was approaching fast.


    I stacked the boxes haphazardly, reminding myself to be careful next time I opened the door, then headed home.


    I pulled into my apartment complex at five to six¡ªtraffic had, once again, stolen precious minutes. Out of necessity, I parked in Ms. Patterson¡¯s carport instead of on the street. She wouldn¡¯t be back until tomorrow to check if I¡¯d moved out. Sure, I had other reasons for parking there, like petty spite, which would make sure my tires left grooves in her gravel when next I pulled out.


    I left everything in the car except my bag, fumbling with it as I sprinted for the back entrance. By the time I hit the stairs, the clock hit 5:57¡ªmoonrise had begun.


    The transformation had already started by the time I stumbled to my door, fumbling for the code. Thank God for keyless entry¡ªthere was no way I¡¯d manage to get my keys out before my hands stopped being hands. I collapsed inside, kicking the door shut behind me.


    The moon wasn¡¯t even visible to me, but I could already feel its pull¡ªlike a deep, gnawing itch beneath my skin, too deep to scratch. After enough transformations, I probably wouldn¡¯t need my lunar apps or alarms anymore. My body was becoming wired with its own clock, counting down the seconds until I stopped being me and became... this.


    As the moon climbed higher, my body began its familiar betrayal. Life had twisted out of control, shoving me out of my apartment and into a paycheck-to-paycheck grind¡ªbut this? This was worse. My bones warped, reshaping into something unrecognizable. Hair thickened into a wild mane, my face elongated into a muzzle, and fur crept over my skin like an invading army. I wasn¡¯t just losing my apartment. I was losing bits of me. One full moon at a time.


    The change was like an electric shock, radiating from my spine and lighting up every nerve in my body. Not quite pain¡ªmore like a burning and tingling pressure that made my skin crawl and my muscles ache. If my bones weren¡¯t busy reshaping themselves like clay, I¡¯d be scratching at myself like a meth addict. I braced against the floor, claws digging in where fingernails had once been.


    A few minutes later, the changes were complete, and I looked more like a wolf with some human remnants. Think less Werewolf of London and more Nina Tucker. I wasn¡¯t anything like the werewolves in the movies. No half-man, half-wolf monstrosities prowling the streets of Charleston. I became a wolf¡ªjust a regular, albeit oversized, wolf¡ªwhenever the full moon was up. When the moon wasn¡¯t quite full, I¡¯d get stuck halfway, like a bad Halloween costume, and wake up the next morning covered in more hair than Gillette could handle.


    Hollywood probably skipped that little quirk¡ªit wasn¡¯t exactly sexy enough for the big screen.


    Three days until the full moon meant I was mostly a wolf, though my mane stayed long in the back, a bit like my regular hair. I could walk on hind legs¡ªalbeit hunched over¡ªand, thank God, I still had opposable thumbs. Not quite human, but functional.


    All the better to crack open a cold one with, my dear.


    I wrestled out of my leggings and sports bra, both tangled around my legs. My ballet flats had fallen off somewhere in the stairwell, but retrieving them could wait until morning. After freeing myself from the bra and scratching at my side with a hind leg, I padded on all fours to the fridge. Inside: cans of beer and dog food.


    I cracked open the last three Blue Moons (which I liked for reasons totally unrelated to being a werewolf) and half-chugged, half-poured them into my mouth¡ªmy dignity was still too human for lapping.


    I acknowledge that it isn¡¯t wise to give alcohol to canines, but I hadn¡¯t gone full dog just yet, and I needed the intoxication if I was going to wolf down the dog food.


    Hah. Wolf down.


    Eating dog food gnawed at what was left of my self-esteem, but it was one of the few things that actually satisfied the wolf¡¯s appetite. A canine diet needed way more protein than a human one¡ªespecially for someone who used to be a vegetarian. Costco¡¯s Turkey and Pea Stew for Dogs ran me 11¡é per ounce. For comparison: canned chicken was 20¡é, tuna was 21¡é, and ground chicken? 62¡é. Canned dog food was just too cost-effective to pass up. Plus, the pop-tabs were a win-win.


    Besides, the wolf seemed to like the taste, and the alcohol helped me not think too hard about it.


    After drinking and eating, I checked the time¡ª7:05 p.m. Sunset wasn¡¯t until 8:31, so I had an hour and a half to myself. I clumsily gathered my scattered clothes. I still had opposable thumbs, but they were more paw than hand now, and I needed them for walking, which left me using my mouth to carry things.


    After starting a load of laundry, I packed up the last odds and ends by dropping them into a box¡ªagain, with my mouth. Don¡¯t judge me. It was just easier this way.


    I didn¡¯t have much left to do anyway, no TV to watch or remove, and I was leaving the furniture behind. Ms. Patterson could either keep it or return it to Goodwill, thus completing the thrifting circle of life.


    My lycanthropy had a knack for showing up at the worst times. Sometimes, while doing Mrs. Willerby¡¯s taxes, I¡¯d get the sudden urge to bark at squirrels or gnaw on the wooden handles of Mr. Willerby¡¯s tools. Another time, I was training a new barista and had to fight the instinct to growl at the smell of freshly ground coffee.


    The wolf didn¡¯t care if I was on shift or filing tax returns¡ªit had its own schedule, and I was just along for the ride. Daylight kept it mostly in check, but as soon as the moon rose, I¡¯d feel it stirring, like a dog pulling against its leash. If I wasn¡¯t careful, I¡¯d be howling during happy hour.


    It probably won¡¯t surprise you to hear that my social life tanked after becoming a werewolf.


    Simple housekeeping was surprisingly easy for wolf-me, since I was still mostly the same AJ as in human form. The transformations followed the moon, but the wolf¡¯s instincts were purely nocturnal¡ªit didn¡¯t fully stir until sunset. Or, maybe it was suppressed by the sun. Who knows? It¡¯s not like I had a handbook on the subject.


    But when it did wake, my hunger twisted into a primal urge to hunt, and those dull aches turned into a restless need to run¡ªthrough streets, across fields, anywhere with trees.


    As the full moon approached, the urges grew stronger. By the time the moon was full, I¡¯d lose control completely. It wasn¡¯t about giving in to the wolf¡ªit was like slipping into a lucid dream. I¡¯d catch glimpses of myself, brief flashes of awareness, but then I¡¯d lose focus, and the wolf would take over¡ªprowling, hunting, doing whatever wolves do.


    Calling it instinct gave it too much credit. It wasn¡¯t some grand, mystical force¡ªit was more like an autopilot. Wolf-mode, or maybe auto-dog. Imagine an itch (easy for me, since I¡¯m always itchy)¡ªone you know better than to scratch. It¡¯s easy to resist when you¡¯re focused, but the moment your mind drifts, you¡¯re scratching yourself raw before you even realize it. That¡¯s what auto-dog felt like¡ªa reflex, kicking in the second I stopped paying attention.


    A siren, a scent, a flash of light¡ªany tiny distraction could trigger it. And once I lost control, it could be minutes or hours before I remembered who I was.


    The real problem with auto-dog mode? Once it kicked in, I had zero control over where I¡¯d end up. One minute, I¡¯d be chasing stray cats through Hampton Park, and the next, I¡¯d be under Ms. Ursly¡¯s rosemary bushes again. If I didn¡¯t get a handle on it soon, I was one awkward encounter away from another run-in with the cops¡ªand Judge Childs.


    The wolf didn¡¯t need much¡ªjust food, darkness, and enough quiet to forget the human world. My trick was to gorge myself on food, then lock myself in the bathroom with the shower blasting. It worked most nights, drowning out the city¡¯s noise and soothing whatever primal urge stirred inside. But I was fighting a losing battle¡ªalways one full moon away from slipping further.


    The wolf craved simplicity: hunt, eat, sleep. Meanwhile, I was juggling rent payments, court dates, and tax-deductible spreadsheets. Two instincts at war, and no amount of white noise could fix that.


    It wasn¡¯t a perfect solution, but at least the wolf wasn¡¯t some bloodthirsty movie monster. It behaved more like, well, an actual wolf¡ªskittish around humans, seeing them as threats to be avoided. It stuck to dark streets and alleys, skulking around, hunting small animals, digging through trash, and occasionally going after strays or lost pets.


    Rest in peace, Kettle Corn.


    Once it had eaten its fill, the wolf would search for a safe spot to sleep, which explained my string of misdemeanors. It had its favorite hideouts¡ªmostly Hampton Park and, for reasons I still don¡¯t understand, under Ms. Ursly¡¯s rosemary bushes. But if I fed the wolf and gave it a cozy spot indoors, I could usually keep it inside for the night¡ªat the cost of violating my lease agreement.


    And that¡¯s how I went from being a respected accountant with CPA ambitions to a soon-to-be homeless barista, fooling herself into thinking she still had an accounting career. Oh, and working the occasional shift at a strip club¡ªon nights when the moon didn¡¯t make me look like a Sasquatch.


    Lycanthropy wasn¡¯t glamorous. It was a bitch¡ªpun intended. Itchy, awkward, and about as graceful as tumbling down a flight of stairs.


    I shuffled to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and curled up on the comforter I¡¯d stashed there¡ªanother Goodwill find. This had been my sleeping spot for days, ever since the moon started waxing and I began shifting. The shedding hair was easier to clean up here, and with my new spine curvature, a soft mattress was hell on my back.


    At first, the changes were only during the full moon¡ªclassic werewolf lore, right? But over time, I realized Hollywood had lied to me. The changes weren¡¯t limited to one night of furry chaos. They bled into the days before and after. Some nights, I¡¯d wake up with fuzzy ears and a heightened sense of smell. Other nights, I¡¯d be stuck halfway between human and wolf¡ªjust enough of both to wonder if I was becoming the world¡¯s least sexy cryptid.


    I started keeping a journal on my computer¡ªsomeone had to document this absurdity. Full moon? Total wolf. Three-quarters moon? Mostly human, just hairier than a Yeti. New moon? Thank God¡ªnormal AJ. Lycanthropy felt like it was on a sliding scale¡ªASD (Animorphic Spectrum Disorder)¡ªexcept with no WebMD, just me fumbling through some sort of supernatural puberty. And regular puberty had been bad enough.


    It all started the night of my younger sister¡¯s bachelorette party¡ªat least, that¡¯s the first incident I remember. The party was in early March, and I got blackout drunk. I mean, my sister, three years younger than me, was getting married, while I was still single and lived alone. So, naturally, my family and friends of the family felt the need to ''help'' me, and, for months, I¡¯d be subject to unsolicited relationship advice. That may have had something to do with why I helped myself to one too many drinks¡ªAJ and open bars shouldn¡¯t mix. Then again, my initials were AA, so perhaps it was destiny. Next thing I knew, I woke up in the middle of Francis Marion State Forest¡ªno phone, no purse, no clothes, and no memory of the last three days.


    Four hours of barefoot hiking while getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, and one awkward conversation with a park ranger later, I made it home. My family had been worried sick¡ªI¡¯d left without a word. But my mom, Katherine, skipped straight to berating me about the new lower-back tattoo I¡¯d somehow picked up during my three-day disappearance.


    Along with a case of lycanthropy, I¡¯d acquired a tramp stamp that looked like a heavy metal band¡¯s logo¡ªthick black and red ink, pentagram, illegible font, the works.


    No bite marks of any kind, though¡ªanother difference from the movies. It¡¯s why it took me so long to realize I was a werewolf. I didn¡¯t figure it out until summer, when the moon started rising before sunset. Turning into a wolf in the middle of my apartment, fully aware of myself, was a pretty reliable indication¡ªand goddamn traumatic.


    After that first night in March, I managed to shove the memory aside¡ªuntil three weeks later, when the hair started. A lot of it. Every night. Then, a week after that, I woke up in Hampton Park, no memory of how I got there, and no sign of the pajamas I¡¯d gone to bed in. Or any clothing, for that matter. You know the rest.


    Never did find those pajamas. Shame¡ªthey were my favorite.


    I was curled up on the comforter when 8:31 p.m. hit, and I felt the wolf stir. Tonight, I stayed aware, partly thanks to the shower. The sound of rain was soothing, muffling the city noise that usually set off the wolf in me.


    The alcohol helped too¡ªmost sedatives did. After my second month of unmanaged ¡®sleepwalking,¡¯ Dr. Anderson had prescribed a sedative to keep me from waking up at night (Estazolam, I think it was). It worked as expected and kept the wolf manageable for a few nights, suppressing the urge to run and hunt, or do much of anything. But the wolf built up a tolerance fast, so it was a temporary fix at best¡ªor one I had to use sparingly.


    Alcohol always worked¡ªmaybe because canines can¡¯t metabolize ethanol. The wolf¡¯s weakness to booze balanced out my human ability to drink copious amounts of it. A few beers, and I¡¯d be buzzed enough to slip into wolf-mode without much trouble. Wine, though? Guaranteed hangover.


    I could feel wolf-me beginning to boot out human-me, and I had inebriated myself sufficiently that I felt I could let it do as it pleased. It wouldn¡¯t do much more than lounge around the bathroom¡ªmaybe drink from the toilet.


    Bleah. Better not.


    I used a mental exercise my psychiatrist taught me to control anxiety¡ªimagining the feelings inside me as something separate from myself. Like an object I could hold. It wasn¡¯t hard to picture. I imagined holding a rowdy puppy, something small, like a chihuahua or corgi¡ªdefinitely not a wolf (One must not dignify the auto-dog). I tried coaxing it to sleep, covering it with my own exhaustion, my desire to curl up and hide from the world.


    As long as I stayed aware, I could soothe the little pup and keep her from causing trouble. That was the thing¡ªI felt that I could control this force inside me. I just needed more time. Needed everything around me to stop falling apart.


    Still, something was missing. Something driving its behavior beyond food and shelter. There was always this sense of longing I couldn¡¯t figure out. It wasn¡¯t the desire for a boyfriend or mate¡ªI knew that much. The progesterone from the implant I''d received had torpedoed both my and the wolf¡¯s libido. Oh well, I had bigger problems than an already non-existent sex life.


    The wolf was searching for something, always restless, always sniffing for something more. But what?


    It wasn¡¯t food¡ªdog chow did the trick. It wasn¡¯t shelter¡ªthe bed and bath I built worked just fine. But the wolf was compelled by some sense of discontent that made it howl into the night. Maybe it was searching for peace, a way to escape the city. Or trying to find its way back to some long-lost forest that didn¡¯t exist in Charleston anymore. Whatever it was, it had a sense of direction I didn¡¯t share.


    If I could understand the wolf, maybe I could control it. And if I could control it, maybe I could control the transformations too. Maybe even suppress them¡ªor at least make them follow my schedule for once.


    People lived with impairments and disabilities all the time and still led happy, normal lives. How was turning into a wolf any worse than needing dialysis three times a week? Compared to that, or being in a wheelchair, lycanthropy wasn¡¯t so bad¡ªand definitely not the most expensive. In the end, they all came down to the same thing: costs.


    How could I afford to live as a werewolf and still keep my way of life together? That question circled through my mind until, eventually, the little wolf fell asleep. And soon, so did I.

 Chapter 2:

    July 1, 2023


    Moonrise: 7:07 p.m.


    Sunset: 8:31 p.m.


    <hr>


    I woke up cocooned in the comforter on the bathroom floor, cold tiles biting at every inch of exposed skin. I pulled the comforter tighter, but the chill had already seeped into my bones. No pelt to keep me warm now¡ªjust tangled hair stuck to my face. I spat it out with a huff, half-expecting a growl that didn¡¯t come.


    No more wolf, cozy in its fur. Just me¡ªAJ¡ªlanky, stiff-limbed, awkwardly wedged between the shower door and toilet. The warmth was gone, replaced by cold skin on a hard floor. The wolf never had to deal with mornings like this.


    I groaned, forcing myself upright, my joints popping in protest. The bathroom counter was a blur in front of me, but after a few blind swipes, I found my phone. 4:15 a.m. Moonset had been twelve minutes ago. Normally, I¡¯d still be out cold after shifting back¡ªespecially after more... eventful nights. But the wolf had settled in early. Or maybe it was the damn cold that dragged me out of sleep.


    The shower hissed in the background, a steady hum of white noise. It had been running all night. To hell with utilities; wasn¡¯t like I was paying them anymore. I twisted the knob to hot, waiting for the steam to fill the room. For a second, I thought about sticking with cold water to shock myself awake. But, with the chill that clung to my skin, a hot shower seemed the better way to start the day. I deserved a little indulgence every now and then, didn¡¯t I?


    When the water finally warmed, I let the comforter drop to the floor and stepped into the shower. The spray hit my skin, washing away the fur I¡¯d shed but still clung stubbornly to me (if only it disappeared like in the movies). I scrubbed with a loofah, but that one itchy spot in the middle of my back stayed out of reach. Should¡¯ve invested in a longer shower brush. I missed being able to scratch that spot with my foot like when I was a wolf.


    I watched as fur clumped in the drain. Disgusted, I fished it out and tossed it in the toilet. I didn¡¯t bother flushing yet¡ªthe old plumbing would steal the cold water, and I wasn¡¯t in the mood to get scalded.


    Clean¡ªwell, as close as I¡¯d get¡ªI reached for my towel, then remembered it was still in the dryer. Of course. Muttering a curse, I dripped through the apartment to grab it. Once toweled off, I went through the motions: first, plucking unwelcomed hairs from my face with tweezers (lest I give Frida Kahlo a run for her money), then shaving my new sideburns¡ªI had a look I was going for, and this wasn¡¯t it. Then, it was jeans, black turtleneck, sneakers, and hair tied into a bun-like updo. Spartan, but efficient. No time for anything else.


    I stuffed the last of my things into a box and gave the apartment one final scan. The comforter was a lost cause¡ªshredded, filthy, and too bulky to pack. I tossed it into a trash bag, along with last night¡¯s remnants: beer bottles, food cans, and a loofah too embedded with hair to save. I grabbed the bag and box, leaving the door unlocked as per the eviction agreement. Ms. Patterson would be here soon enough.


    The trash clattered into the bins by the back entrance, and I nearly missed my ballet flats, neatly placed on the first-floor landing. My neighbor¡¯s doing, no doubt¡ªa small act of kindness. I smiled, slid the flats into my box, balanced it on my hip, and headed for the car. Maybe today wouldn¡¯t suck so much.


    My car was right where I¡¯d left it¡ªsmack in the middle of Ms. Patterson¡¯s carport. Only now, it had a new accessory: a claw-shaped immobilization device clamped onto the front driver¡¯s side tire. Not even a real boot, just a cheap knockoff slapped on by Dixie Nissan¡¯s repo team.


    I was behind on payments, so this wasn¡¯t a shock. But clearly, they thought I didn¡¯t know my way around a tire. If they did, they¡¯d have used something more secure. Like a real boot that covered the lug nuts. Sometimes, sexism worked in my favor.


    I sighed¡ªmore annoyed than surprised¡ªand popped the trunk. Of course, this had to happen today. Why wouldn¡¯t it? I dug out the jack and tire iron. Not my first rodeo dealing with this crap, and probably not my last¡ªbut that didn¡¯t make it any less infuriating.


    I jacked the car up with practiced ease, only to curse when I realized I¡¯d forgotten to loosen the lug nuts. Of course¡ªI¡¯d put my shoes on before my socks. Growling, I lowered the car and wrestled with the first lug nut. I had to stand on the tire iron, putting all my weight on it before the damn thing came loose. One down, four to go.


    A used tire from LKQ salvage yard had set me back $64, wheel and hubcap included¡ªor $86 with the 90-day worry-free guarantee (but I preferred a can of Fix-a-Flat¡ªit was cheaper). Gerald¡¯s Tires charged $109 for just the tire. As for paying off the car? Out of the question. Now that I was in default, they¡¯d want the full balance. Assuming they hadn¡¯t already lined up a new buyer.


    By the time I jacked the car up again, sweat dripped down my temples and soaked the back of my shirt. The air was thick and muggy¡ªah, the joys of coastal living. My hands ached from gripping the tire iron, sweat trickling down my spine. Just as I got the car back up, I heard it¡ªa low engine rumbling, then stopping. A car door thunked shut, followed by the familiar scent of expensive perfume: a floral smell of jasmine, with undertones of amber and sandalwood.


    I peeked over the top of my car, and there she was¡ªMs. Patterson, arms crossed, leaning against her Mercedes Coupe, watching me with that sharp, assessing gaze that made my skin crawl. She was decked out in crisp overalls that looked straight out of a home and garden catalog. She appeared ready to get her hands dirty, but the freshly manicured nails and wrinkle-free clothes told another story. The heavy lifting would be left to David, her property manager. Ms. Patterson was here to supervise, not break a sweat.


    I ducked, but not fast enough¡ªour eyes met. Damn it. Of course, she¡¯d show up now, looking perfect while I was all slimy and grimy. This was just what I needed: an audience. She probably planned to arrive early, hoping to watch me struggle. And I didn¡¯t disappoint.


    I could feel Ms. Patterson¡¯s eyes boring into me. She¡¯d shifted for a better vantage point, standing, arms still crossed¡ªlike a foreman inspecting her workers. That familiar knowing look on her face, the smirk tugging at her lips, made it worse. She was loving this.


    After fumbling and dropping the lug nuts¡ªtwice¡ªand having to crawl under the car to fish them out, I had enough. That was it. I stood, wiping my hands on my jeans, trying to hide my rising irritation, and shot her a glare.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let me stop you,¡± she said smoothly, her posture oozing casual authority. She waved a hand at the car like it was an afterthought.


    I straightened, meeting her gaze. ¡°I¡¯ll be done in a minute,¡± I said, the back of my hand rubbing the bead of sweat that had rolled into my nose. ¡°No need to hover.¡±


    ¡°But I do need to park my car. I could have you towed, but it appears that someone is already on that.¡± A slight smile tugged at her lips.


    I held her gaze for a beat before bending back to the tire. ¡°You¡¯ll have your spot back soon. I¡¯m already out of the apartment¡ªmaybe deal with that?¡±


    She ignored my comment and asked a question of her own. ¡°Did you at least have the sense to toss that couch?¡±


    I grunted, pulling the booted wheel off. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with a free sofa?¡±


    ¡°That thing isn¡¯t even Goodwill material. Really, Allison, it¡¯s like you¡¯re allergic to quality.¡±


    I smirked. ¡°Just throw a doily over it or something. Isn¡¯t that what women your age do?¡±


    Patterson didn¡¯t look a day over 35, but I knew better. She had to be in her fifties, still rocking a bob like she spent her formative years in the ''80s, worshiping the likes of Melanie Griffith in Something Wild. That, and under all that jasmine and sandalwood, she just smelled... old.


    She didn¡¯t even blink. ¡°You¡¯re just making more work for David.¡±


    ¡°Oh, golly gee,¡± I muttered, rolling my eyes. ¡°Why not just give him my security deposit? Hold it over his head like you do with everyone else. Isn¡¯t that what it¡¯s for?¡±


    She scoffed. ¡°And waste two grand on something I can get for free? Please.¡±


    ¡°Then deal with it yourself,¡± I shot back.


    ¡°You know, all of this could¡¯ve been avoided if you¡¯d just signed the new lease.¡±


    I popped the trunk, pulling out my spare tire. ¡°I couldn¡¯t afford it. I barely scraped by as it was.¡±


    She paused, and I felt her eyes on me, calculating. ¡°We could¡¯ve worked something out. You were late a few times, but you always paid. And that little dog of yours, or whatever it was, didn¡¯t cause me any real trouble. You fixed the place up well enough. Drywall¡¯s tricky, but you did a decent job¡ªthough the paint was a little... off.¡±


    I ignored her and focused on lowering the tire, rolling it to the front of the car.


    ¡°I could help you, you know,¡± she said sweetly. ¡°A personal loan. A little cushion while you get back on your feet.¡±


    I let the tire thud to the ground and stood, crossing my arms this time. ¡°I have enough debt already, thanks. The only loan I¡¯m after is a mortgage.¡±


    ¡°Houses are risky these days,¡± she mused, tilting her head. ¡°Default, and you end up with nothing.¡±


    ¡°Or, I could end up owning a place of my own,¡± I muttered, hoisting the spare tire onto the hub and struggling to line up the holes with the studs.


    ¡°And if you can¡¯t pay it off?¡± she countered. ¡°Renting is safer for someone in your position. I might have a smaller place¡ª$1600 a month.¡±


    I didn¡¯t look up, busying myself with the tire. ¡°Sounds like a steal. Utilities included?¡±


    ¡°Of course not.¡±


    ¡°Then there¡¯s your answer.¡±


    Ms. Patterson stayed rooted, eyes fixed on me. ¡°What if I let you keep a pet this time?¡±


    I busied myself threading the lug nuts into place. ¡°Even if I had one, I¡¯m not interested.¡±


    ¡°Then what¡¯s with all those empty food cans in your trash?¡±


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ve developed a taste for the finer things.¡±


    ¡°I thought you were vegetarian.¡±


    I paused, then forced myself to keep working. ¡°Who told you that?¡±


    Her lips twitched. ¡°You did. Last year. I invited you to a barbecue, and you turned down the pulled pork. Said you hadn¡¯t eaten meat in a decade.¡±


    Again, I fumbled with the lug nuts. How the hell did she remember that? I still considered myself a vegetarian¡ªat least, in human form. The wolf had its own cravings, which didn¡¯t count. And after the things it made me devour, just thinking about meat made me sick. Patterson¡¯s cat gave me more than indigestion¡ªhe had left scars, mentally and physically.


    Ms. Patterson let the silence hang before speaking again, her tone light. ¡°So, moving back in with your parents?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The word came out sharper than I intended. I focused on the jack, lowering the car to the ground. ¡°I¡¯m not that desperate.¡±


    She seemed amused. ¡°Then where to?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°What, you sending me a housewarming gift?¡±


    ¡°Maybe a birthday card. September 7th, right?¡±


    I froze. How the hell did she know that? First the vegetarian thing, now this? I barely acknowledged my own birthday, let alone expected anyone else to. My thoughts must¡¯ve been written all over my face.


    ¡°You know, Allison,¡± she continued pleasantly, ¡°it pays to take an interest in people. Good for relationships, good for business.¡±


    ¡°Good for squeezing every dime out of your tenants.¡±


    She gave a slight laugh. ¡°Being practical doesn¡¯t make me heartless.¡±


    ¡°Just soulless. If you had one, you¡¯d have sold it for a place south of Broad.¡±


    ¡°In a heartbeat.¡±


    Well... had to give her points for honesty.


    I tightened the last lug nut and hefted the booted tire into the trunk next to another immobilized one. Not my first rodeo. Turning to Patterson, I wiped my hands on my jeans again. ¡°I¡¯d offer a handshake, but I¡¯ve already got enough grime on them.¡±


    Her smirk widened as her eyes flicked downward. ¡°Looks like you forgot something.¡±


    I followed her gaze to my hubcap. Which I had forgotten to put on. Shoes and socks, AJ. Shoes and socks. I picked it up and tossed it into the trunk without a word.


    ¡°I¡¯d watch those wheels in your trunk,¡± she said, still watching me. ¡°Those clamps are trackable, you know.¡±


    ¡°Noted.¡±


    I hopped into my car, and without another glance, drove off.


    <hr>


    I drove in circles, my brain scrambled¡ªMs. Patterson, the eviction, the damn boot. I was supposed to be going somewhere, but driving this early threw me off. Normally, I¡¯d be walking to work by now.


    I glanced at the clock on my dash. My stomach flipped.


    I was supposed to be opening shop.


    ¡°Shit!¡± I yanked the wheel hard to the right as a horn blared behind me. Downtown Charleston¡¯s narrow one-way streets felt like an obstacle course. But I didn¡¯t have far to go¡ªrelatively speaking.


    I fumbled for my phone and called Candice. Voicemail. I left a rushed message and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, cursing myself under my breath.


    When I drove by the caf¨¦, the lights were already on. My heart sank.


    I found a parking spot a block away and ran up the street. No way Kayla opened the store¡ªshe didn¡¯t have keys. Which meant...


    Candice looked up as I walked in, already behind the counter, her matted blonde hair pulled back in a twist. Exhaustion showed in the shadows under her eyes, though she hid it well. Years of running her business and raising two teens hadn¡¯t dulled her energy. I admired that about her.


    Kayla stood beside her, mimicking every move as they worked through the early rush. Candice¡¯s face softened when she saw me, but the exasperation beneath the warmth was clear.


    ¡°AJ,¡± she called, handing a cup to the last customer before turning to me. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you call?¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± I panted, catching my breath. ¡°Left a voicemail.¡±


    Candice raised an eyebrow. ¡°I meant before your shift. Kayla had to call me¡ªshe couldn¡¯t get in.¡± She glanced at Kayla. ¡°Think you can handle the online orders?¡±


    Kayla nodded, and Candice gestured to the chairs by the window. I followed, ignoring the knot twisting in my stomach.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a little something on your nose. What happened?¡± she asked after we sat. She smelled of citrus and fresh linen. Simple yet invigorating.


    I hesitated, rubbing my face. ¡°I, uh... got evicted this morning. Then... had to deal with a flat tire.¡± That sounded better than admitting I¡¯d been booted.


    Candice¡¯s eyes widened slightly. ¡°AJ, why didn¡¯t you call out? You didn¡¯t need to come in today.¡±


    I fidgeted with the rough fabric at the edge of my seat. ¡°I still planned to work. Most of my stuff¡¯s packed, and I figured I¡¯d start looking for a place after my shift.¡±


    ¡°So... you don¡¯t have anywhere to stay?¡± Candice¡¯s voice softened, but her concern cut through.


    Heat crept up my neck as I looked away. ¡°I¡¯ll figure it out,¡± I mumbled, staring at a coffee stain on the table.


    Candice sighed, rubbing her temples. ¡°Where are you parking?¡±


    ¡°On the street,¡± I admitted, shrinking with every word. I really messed this up.


    She shook her head. ¡°AJ, you¡¯re going to rack up a parking ticket bigger than what you¡¯ll make today. I get it¡ªyou¡¯re dedicated¡ªbut you¡¯ve got more important things to handle.¡± She gave Kayla a quick nod before turning back to me. ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to focus on Kayla¡¯s training anyway. I¡¯ll take your shift.¡±


    I opened my mouth to protest, but she silenced me with a raised hand. ¡°No arguments. You need to sort out your housing. I know you took this job to avoid moving back with your parents, but living out of your car isn¡¯t an option.¡±


    She stood and moved to the counter, fixing a cup of coffee¡ªwith warm milk and plenty of sugar. She knew I liked it sweet.


    She handed me the cup. ¡°Here. You need this.¡±


    I took it, trying to smile. ¡°Candice, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°You can pick up extra shifts later if you need the money,¡± she cut in. ¡°But right now, focus on finding a place. Get a roof over your head, okay?¡±


    I nodded, knowing she was right. I was barely holding it together, and the last thing I needed was to mess this up too. ¡°Thanks,¡± I muttered, taking a sip of coffee.


    Candice¡¯s face softened. ¡°Take care of yourself, AJ. You can¡¯t help anyone if you¡¯re running on empty.¡± Her words were meant to comfort, but they only deepened the pit in my stomach. Every mistake, every late shift felt like another step toward losing her faith in me. I wanted to do at least one thing right, even if that thing was being a barista. It was about the work ethic, more than the work itself.


    I nodded, forcing a smile¡ªhoping it looked more ¡®I¡¯ve got this¡¯ than ¡®I¡¯m barely holding it together with coffee and duct tape¡¯¡ªand got up to leave. The bell jingled softly as the door closed behind me.


    Once inside the car, I buckled in, started the engine and AC, then, after taking a deep breath, beat my fist against the steering wheel, frustration boiling over. I was already losing pieces of myself with each full moon. Losing this job wouldn¡¯t just mean losing a paycheck¡ªI¡¯d lose the last shred of stability tethering me to something like normalcy.


    To stay human, I had to keep living like one.


    I had no intention of becoming a hermit living in the woods, or, as my father put it, living in a van down by the river.


    I took a deep breath, steadied myself, then took a long swig of coffee. The sugar and caffeine cut through my headache but did nothing for the gnawing ache in my stomach.


    I stared blankly out the windshield, my mind spinning. Call my parents? The thought made me sick. I¡¯d have to tell them everything¡ªabout the eviction, the court mess, the wolf problem. No hiding it with the full moon days away. Hell, they didn¡¯t even know I¡¯d lost my job at Muckenfuss. Talking to them would be all or nothing.


    I decided on nothing.


    My stomach growled, cutting through the tension. Maybe I couldn¡¯t think straight because I was starving. Pancakes. Pancakes would help.


    Then it hit me. I knew who to call.


    <hr>


    Vanessa answered on the third ring, her voice groggy and irritated. ¡°AJ, why are you calling this early?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s 7 a.m.,¡± I said, forcing some cheer into my voice.


    ¡°It¡¯s Saturday,¡± she grumbled. ¡°7 a.m. is early.¡±


    I sighed, cutting to the chase. ¡°Pancakes at IHOP?¡±


    A beat of silence. I could hear her smirk. ¡°What do you want this time, AJ?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t a friend just invite a friend to breakfast?¡± I said, though we both knew better.


    Vanessa chuckled, light but knowing. ¡°You only ask me out for pancakes when you want something. But fine, you¡¯re treating.¡±


    ¡°Deal,¡± I said, relief washing over me. But it was short-lived. We¡¯d been friends since college, though I wouldn¡¯t exactly call it a close friendship. More like a transactional one. I provided tax help during filing season, and she provided me... favors. Usually in the form of information, such as temp work that you were likely to find on any postings of job-sites. Or if you needed a little dirt on a local debt collector when you needed to negotiate a repayment plan.


    She was good at it too¡ªmost people underestimated Vanessa. With her bubbly personality and picture-perfect smile, she seemed like the kind of girl who breezed through life without a care. But I knew better.


    Vanessa would never agree to anything without an angle.


    We met at the IHOP on Folly Beach. Vanessa strolled in like she¡¯d stepped off a magazine cover, her oversized sunglasses and effortlessly chic outfit the perfect blend of casual and calculated. She slid into the booth across from me, sunglasses still on, lips curling into that familiar, too-perfect smile. Her aroma was filled with sweet and spicy notes, like cinnamon or cardamom, but more alluring. It made my eyes water, and yet I found myself drawn to it.


    I¡¯d already snagged a table and worked through most of a breakfast sampler¡ªscrambled eggs, crispy hashbrowns, buttermilk waffles. The bacon sat untouched, waiting for Vanessa. I¡¯d even ordered another sampler for her a few minutes earlier, though I¡¯d likely eat most of it too.


    ¡°Morning,¡± Vanessa said, sounding much perkier¡ªprobably thanks to an ungodly amount of caffeine. ¡°So, what¡¯s up? This is early for us.¡±


    ¡°Just thought we could kick off the day with some breakfast,¡± I said, trying to sound casual. It didn¡¯t land.


    Vanessa arched an eyebrow, unconvinced but playing along. ¡°Uh-huh. Just a nice breakfast, huh? So... how¡¯s life treating you?¡± she asked, nibbling on a piece of bacon.


    ¡°Still at the coffee shop,¡± I said.


    Vanessa smirked. ¡°Not what you went to school for, huh? But it keeps the lights on.¡± Her slight, yet amused, smile made me feel like she could see right through me. She was waiting for me to play my hand first.


    ¡°Mostly,¡± I admitted, that familiar knot tightening in my chest¡ªgood old envy. Vanessa had a way of turning nothing into something. If life handed her lemons, she¡¯d whip up gourmet lemonade and sell it for twenty bucks a glass.


    But Vanessa never got lemons¡ªshe got melons. And she knew how to flaunt them, leaving me wondering if I¡¯d missed the part of adulthood where you learn to look like a magazine ad. Meanwhile, I was still figuring out how to adult without looking like a disaster.


    She leaned back, gaze steady, body relaxed but still alert. Vanessa had a knack for peeling back your layers without you noticing. If she cared about anything beyond money, she¡¯d have made a killer investigative journalist. But there was no profit in that, and Vanessa never wasted time on things that didn¡¯t pay off.


    Which made me wonder: why the hell did she waste her time on me? It sure wasn¡¯t for the free breakfast.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°So, what¡¯s really going on, AJ?¡± Vanessa¡¯s voice softened to coax a confession out of me.


    I hesitated. Lying to Vanessa was pointless¡ªshe could read me like a bad mystery novel, and she already knew something was off.


    ¡°I got evicted this morning,¡± I said, the words sour in my mouth. ¡°And my cards are declined.¡± I was paying for this breakfast with the cash Mrs. Willerby had given me.


    Vanessa¡¯s eyebrows shot up over her sunglasses. Surprise flickered into frustration. ¡°Seriously? Why not ask your parents for help? Don¡¯t they live in the Groves? I¡¯m sure they¡¯d let you crash for a while.¡±


    ¡°And tell them I got fired because I was arrested for indecent exposure? Hard pass.¡±


    Vanessa frowned, pushing her sunglasses into her hair. ¡°But it¡¯s expunged, right? Why does it matter?¡±


    ¡°Katherine won¡¯t care,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°And my sisters are still there¡ªwith Sarah¡¯s fianc¨¦¡ªuntil they close on a house. I¡¯d rather sleep on the street than deal with their drama.¡±


    Vanessa¡¯s lips quirked. ¡°Chelley would love having you around. Doesn¡¯t she look up to you?¡±


    ¡°Not if I¡¯m the deadbeat sister living in the garage.¡±


    Vanessa shrugged, but the gleam in her eyes told me she was already working out a plan. ¡°And how¡¯s that worse than living on the street? At least they¡¯ve got a cute little room.¡±


    ¡°Independence,¡± I muttered, sharper than I meant to. ¡°I just want a place that¡¯s safe, secure, and won¡¯t complain if I bring in a dog.¡±


    Vanessa smirked, her gaze sly. ¡°What kind of dog? A pet, or a... pet?¡±


    ¡°A dog, V. Just a large one,¡± I said, rolling my eyes. ¡°Also, if you hear about any temp work, I could use the cash.¡±


    Vanessa chuckled. ¡°Well, the 4th is coming up, and with all the tourists, you could make a killing if you¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I cut her off firmly. ¡°Nothing that involves showing skin.¡±


    It was Vanessa who talked me into working shifts at the gentleman¡¯s clubs.


    Vanessa¡¯s grin widened, eyes teasing. ¡°You sure? You made a week¡¯s wages in tips last time. It¡¯d cover a nice hotel. Plus, you could gather some gossip for my column.¡±


    ¡°Not happening,¡± I said, more forcefully. ¡°Last time, one of my high school teachers showed up. I had to threaten to tell his wife if he blabbed to my mom. Besides, I haven¡¯t shaved in weeks. No one¡¯s paying to see that.¡±


    Vanessa¡¯s eyes sparkled. ¡°I know a few who¡¯d pay extra.¡±


    ¡°Drop it, V,¡± I warned, though a small smile tugged at my lips. ¡°Got anything else?¡±


    Vanessa sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. ¡°Fine. But it¡¯s not really a job¡ªmore of a favor for a friend. How are you with animals?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Better than average, I guess. Why?¡±


    Vanessa leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. ¡°Remember Sandy? Our sorority sister with all the animals?¡±


    I leaned in too. ¡°The one with the zoo in her house?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the one,¡± Vanessa nodded. ¡°She¡¯s out of town, bit of an emergency, and JT¡ªsome guy you haven¡¯t met¡ªhas been helping with her animals, but he¡¯s swamped. Sandy¡¯s also looking for a roommate to help with costs, maybe some company. She¡¯s not a people person, but I think you could charm her.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t been close to most of our sorority sisters. They were a peculiar bunch, really into New Age, astrology, studying Latin, and other assorted hobbies. Vanessa had brought me in because they needed a treasurer. We¡¯d taken forensic accounting together, and she knew I was good with numbers. The irony that I was in a financial mess wasn¡¯t lost on either of us.


    I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. ¡°How exactly am I supposed to charm someone who doesn¡¯t like people?¡±


    Vanessa leaned back, grinning. ¡°Easy. Start with the animals, make a good impression. You¡¯d stay at her place in the meantime and even get paid for your troubles. I can help you set up something more permanent after that. Sandy¡¯s place is quiet, private¡ªout in West Ashley. She¡¯s even got a stable where your ¡®dog¡¯ can stay if he doesn¡¯t play nice with the others.¡±


    A chill crept down my spine at the way she said ¡®dog.¡¯ Vanessa didn¡¯t know about my lycanthropy¡ªor at least, I¡¯d never told her. But the way she spoke sometimes made me wonder. She had this knack for knowing just enough to keep me on edge, always making me question what else she was hiding. Or it could be a ploy to make me reveal more of my hand. You never knew with V.


    ¡°I¡¯m not exactly an animal expert,¡± I said cautiously. ¡°And Sandy doesn¡¯t seem like someone who appreciates the ¡®fake it till you make it¡¯ type.¡±


    Vanessa waved me off. ¡°Oh please. You¡¯ve faked your way through worse. They adored you at Cabaret. JT will be there to help, and I¡¯ve got your back. I¡¯ll even leave him a good word for you. You¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    I narrowed my eyes at her, suspicious. ¡°And what do you get out of this, exactly?¡±


    Vanessa¡¯s grin widened. ¡°Just helping a friend, of course. And maybe I promised JT I¡¯d find him a replacement... and offer to help find Sandy a roommate. So really, it¡¯s three birds with one stone.¡±


    I rolled my eyes. There was more to it than that, but part of me felt relieved. Vanessa might be a bit unorthodox at times and always trying to capitalize on our interactions, but she never let me down.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I sighed, still a bit dubious. ¡°Where do I start?¡±


    <hr>


    The drive to Sandy¡¯s felt like a slow crawl toward something inevitable. I followed Vanessa¡¯s directions down Bees Ferry, past the fire and police departments. My eyes scanned for Palmetto Community Church¡ªif I hit Crosstowne Christian, I¡¯d gone too far. Just as I was starting to worry, the sign came into view, and I made a sharp left at the church, the asphalt gradually turning to a bumpy dirt road.


    The sign read Wolffs Lair Rd.


    I kid you not.


    Sandy¡¯s house sat at the end of the road, a ranch-style home that had seen better days. Not falling apart, but not winning any curb appeal awards either. The place had a cozy, if chaotic, vibe¡ªfenced-in backyard, overgrown garden, and an air of gentle disarray. Still, it was large enough to make me wonder how Sandy had managed it. The Sandy I remembered from college was aloof and hopeless with money. Inherited, maybe? Or perhaps a family deal?


    I parked in front of the garage, gravel crunching underfoot as I stepped out. I felt it immediately¡ªthe presence of dogs. Lots of them. The barking started as soon as I approached the door, their muzzles pressed against the window, eyes tracking my every move. From the overgrown garden, a black cat crouched under a lantana bush, watching me, unblinking.


    I was early¡ª11 a.m. instead of noon. JT wouldn¡¯t be here for another hour. I figured getting a head start with the animals might work in my favor. Maybe I could win over the dogs before he showed up so I could look like a natural. Messing with someone else¡¯s pets without permission wasn¡¯t my best idea, but I wasn¡¯t exactly normal anymore. Being a werewolf came with certain... perks.


    I scanned the porch for a hidden key and found it in a potted plant, dangling from a bone-shaped keychain. As I straightened up, I heard a rustle beside me.


    A black-and-white border collie had appeared out of nowhere. It barked, startling me, and I dropped the keys. The dog darted forward, snatching them from midair before they hit the ground.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I shouted, but the dog took off around the house, tail wagging. I gave chase.


    We circled the house and fenced yard once, twice¡ªmaybe three times. My legs were burning, and this dog was clearly out for blood¡ªor, more likely, just my dignity. For him, this was a game of keep-away I had no hope of winning.


    Panting and sweating, I finally stopped. This dog was fast¡ªtoo fast. Time for plan B.


    I headed back to my car and grabbed a family-sized bag of Cheez-Its. I¡¯d bought them for emergencies like this. All you had to do to get a dog to cooperate was bribe them¡ªwith food.


    The dog followed at a cautious distance. I opened the bag with an exaggerated rustle, letting the sharp cheddar scent waft out. ¡°How about a trade?¡± I called, holding up a cracker.


    The dog edged closer, ears twitching at the sound of the bag, nose quivering at the scent. I could see the debate in his eyes¡ªhalf tempted to give in, half still wanting to play.


    Once he edged even closer, I played my ace. One of the perks of lycanthropy was the ability to communicate with canines¡ªnot with words, but through impressions. Sensory memories and feelings I could embed into my voice. The range wasn¡¯t great¡ªten yards or so in human form¡ªbut under the full moon, when I could howl, it could reach over miles. I''d first learned to use it on Ms. Ursly''s dog, Angel, getting her to stop yapping long enough to formulate a plan of escape. Too bad it hadn''t worked on Ms. Ursly.


    I sent him the thought of the cracker¡ªits crunch, salty taste, cheesy smell. Especially the smell. His tail twitched, his jaw slackened, and I knew I had him.


    ¡°Come on,¡± I coaxed, lacing my words with the promise of treats. ¡°Keys for a cracker.¡±


    He hesitated, then trotted over, key clutched between his teeth. I tossed the cracker, and he dropped the key to grab it. I pocketed the key and tossed him another cracker for good measure. Positive reinforcement.


    ¡°Good boy,¡± I cooed, scratching behind his ears as his tail wagged. I ran my fingers over his collar. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I asked, more out of habit, not expecting an answer. Then I felt it¡ªa faint impression, almost a whisper: Kai.


    ¡°Kai?¡± I repeated, and his tail wagged harder. But when I squinted at the tag, something didn¡¯t add up¡ªthe name etched into the metal wasn¡¯t Kai.


    ¡°Coy?¡± I read aloud. His ears perked up, and I caught a layered thought¡ªSandy called him Kai, but everyone else called him Coy. Then it clicked: Coy, as in coyote.


    Recognition dawned on me. ¡°Wait... I know you.¡± Coy¡¯s tail wagged harder as the memory surfaced: Sandy had kept a mischievous puppy in the dorms¡ªa little troublemaker who got into everything.


    ¡°Well, Coy,¡± I said, ¡°good to see you again.¡±


    I shared a memory with him¡ªof me finding him in the dorm kitchen, head buried in a box of Cheerios. Coy liked that; I could feel the shift. To him, I wasn¡¯t just some stranger with snacks anymore¡ªI was an old friend (also with snacks).


    One dog down, several more to go.


    ¡°How about you introduce me to your friends inside? I¡¯ve got more crackers.¡±


    Coy shot off toward the house, a black-and-white blur, vanishing the moment I lost sight of him.


    ¡°Fast little guy,¡± I muttered, heading to the front door.


    The dogs that had been pressed against the window earlier had vanished, but I could hear their excited paws scuffling inside. I unlocked the door cautiously, but before I could open it, something heavy slammed into it from the other side.


    I stumbled back, missed a step on the porch stairs, and tumbled into the yard. The bag of Cheez-Its flew from my hands, spilling over me as I landed in the grass. The dogs¡ªat least eight of them¡ªpounced on me like kids at a pi?ata party (and I was the pi?ata), diving after the crackers.


    I struggled to sit up, but they were all over me, their enthusiasm overwhelming. Apparently, my dog-speak worked both ways¡ªI could feel their excitement, and it was driving me crazy.


    ¡°Alright, alright!¡± I growled, pushing them off. The growl came out lower than I intended¡ªmore wolf than human. A few dogs yelped, backing away with wide eyes.


    Finally, with some space, I stood and brushed Cheez-It crumbs off myself. Eight dogs in sight, but no Coy¡ªthat made at least nine. That¡¯s a lot of dogs.


    I huffed, eyeing the furry faces around me. ¡°Alright, who¡¯s responsible for opening the door?¡±


    In unison, they all turned toward the biggest of the bunch¡ªa massive Bernese Mountain Dog, blissfully unaware, sniffing around for more crackers.


    ¡°Coy,¡± I called, spotting him poking his head out the door. ¡°What¡¯s the big guy¡¯s name?¡±


    A single word trickled into my mind: Boden.


    ¡°Boden!¡± I barked. His head shot up, eyes wide, a dopey grin spreading across his face¡ªpleasant, but clueless. Definitely not the sharpest tool in the shed.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you force the door open, Boden?¡± I tried to sound stern but not too harsh. He tilted his head, confused. The thought I picked up was muddled, but the gist was: That¡¯s how you open doors.


    ¡°No, Boden,¡± I sighed. ¡°You don¡¯t open doors that way. Especially when someone¡¯s behind it.¡±


    Oh... The thought returned, like this was a brand-new concept to him.


    I looked closer and realized Boden wasn¡¯t dumb, just young. He still had massive paws and that gangly puppy build¡ªthough in his case, ¡®puppy¡¯ meant 80 to 90 pounds of clumsy energy. Good God, he¡¯s going to be huge.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I said, glancing at the pack still watching me. ¡°Let¡¯s head inside¡ªit¡¯s hot out here.¡±


    None of them moved. They just stared, bright-eyed and eager, waiting for... something. As their excitement built, I scrambled for a plan. Then Coy trotted up, dropping a tangled bunch of leashes attached to a hands-free belt at my feet.


    I stared down at it. ¡°Oh, no. No, no, no. There¡¯s no way I¡¯m strapping myself to you guys.¡± With all of them attached to me like that, it¡¯d be dog-sledding¡ªexcept I¡¯d be the sled.


    Coy¡¯s smug amusement slipped into my mind, and I shot him a glare. ¡°This isn¡¯t what I meant by ¡®introductions,¡¯ buddy.¡±


    Their anticipation vibrated in the air, restless energy building. I felt my control slipping¡ªnot just over them, but over myself. Their excitement stirred up my auto-dog, waking it up, and that was dangerous. I¡¯d never been around a pack this big, this close to the full moon. If I got caught in their pack mentality, things would get bad¡ªlegally speaking. I needed a distraction¡ªfast. My eyes swept the yard until they landed on the side gate. Aha!


    ¡°Alright, fine,¡± I conceded. ¡°We can play, but only inside the fence. Walks are for later, when it cools down.¡± And maybe I¡¯ll make JT handle that.


    At the mention of play, the dogs perked up and bolted toward the gate. I hurried after them, trying to maintain the momentum, and unlocked the gate with the second key on the dog-bone keychain. As soon as the gate swung open, they surged inside, and Boden¡ªbless his oversized puppy heart¡ªclipped me as he charged past. I tumbled forward, landing hard as the gate slammed shut behind me, the key still dangling outside.


    I checked that all the dogs were in the yard before following. The back door to the garage was open, and the pack darted in and out, led by Coy with a frisbee in his mouth.


    ¡°Thank God,¡± I sighed. Fetch¡ªsomething safe and easy.


    Or so I thought.


    By the time JT¡¯s car finally pulled into the driveway, I was a wreck. Sweat soaked my shirt, every muscle ached, and I was covered in dog hair and slobber. The pack was relentless¡ªno sooner did I throw the frisbee than it was back in my hand. Their excited thoughts bombarded me, leaving me barely able to think straight. I was pretty sure that even the auto-dog had short-circuited.


    The shed, just across the yard¡ªthe one place I hoped could contain me for the full moon¡ªstood out of reach, unexplored.


    I¡¯d tried¡ªand spectacularly failed¡ªto escape. The fence was too tall to reach over for the key, its wooden frame and wire mesh perfect for keeping dogs (and apparently short humans) trapped. I even tried climbing it (though my lack of upper body strength made it a struggle), and as soon as I got any height, a black lab named Puddy barreled into me, knocking me flat on my back.


    Winded and exhausted, I sprawled on the grass, too drained to move. The cool grass felt good against my skin, and I figured a quick rest couldn¡¯t hurt. Boden seemed to agree, flopping on top of me, his massive weight pinning me to the ground.


    The other dogs followed, some curling up around me like I was a human dog bed.


    Four of them¡ªAnnie, Rosie, Emma, and Maggie¡ªtook the chance to lick the sweat off my forehead. Coy introduced each of them in turn as I tried to fend them off, but with Boden pinning me, it was futile. There were more of them than I had the arms to defend against. I curled my arms around my face in a weak attempt at protection, but the determined lickers went straight for my ears instead.


    Desperate, I tried one of Candice¡¯s self-defense moves to escape a pin, but it didn¡¯t work on dogs the way it did on people. Boden just slid higher, his weight pressing into my ribs, making it harder to breathe.


    Beyond Boden, one of the smaller dogs¡ªRudy, the schnauzer with an impressive Fu Manchu¡ªgot a little too excited. He decided to ¡®help¡¯ by mounting my leg, enthusiastically poking me with... well, himself. Kicking him off only seemed to encourage him further.


    I sent a mental plea to Coy, who nipped Rudy on the rear, sending the little pervert scurrying off.


    Amid the flurry of paws and slobber, I spotted the black cat perched lazily on the fence, watching me with a look of disdainful amusement. I grumbled, resigned to my fate, when the slam of a car door cut through the chaos.


    Suddenly, all the dogs¡ªexcept for Coy, still guarding me from Rudy, and Boden, blissfully napping on top of me¡ªrushed to the fence, barking.


    I twisted my head and spotted a tall figure approaching¡ªJT.


    ¡°So, I guess that answers the question: who let the dogs out?¡± JT¡¯s voice had that easy, confident lilt that immediately put me on guard. Great¡ªanother guy with a smile too charming for his own good. ¡°You must be AJ.¡±


    ¡°You must be JT.¡± I said, wriggling beneath Boden, trying to shimmy enough to breathe.


    JT could¡¯ve easily looked over the fence, but he crouched just outside the mesh. Even then, he towered over me¡ªtall, lean, and clean-shaven. But it was his hair that got me.


    I wasn¡¯t in the market for dating, but I had a type. And JT, with that hair? Yeah, that hit the mark¡ªlong, tied back in a messy bun, streaked with sun-bleached gold. Dirty blonde. My favorite.


    Why, God, did I have to be covered in sweat and dog? Now?


    JT surveyed the fence, with a half dozen wet noses poking through, holding the bundle of leashes I¡¯d abandoned. ¡°Vanessa didn¡¯t mention waiting for me? Jumping into a pack of strange dogs solo isn¡¯t the best idea. Easy way to get hurt. Even for ones this¡ªwell-behaved.¡±


    ¡°Oh, can it. I know what I¡¯m doing,¡± I shot back on reflex, still wrestling with Boden¡¯s weight, trying to ignore how my heart pounded from more than just exertion.


    JT raised an eyebrow but let it slide. His gaze shifted to the key dangling from the gate. ¡°Let me guess¡ªBoden knocked you over and you got locked in?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Yeah, something like that.¡±


    ¡°You alright? You look like you¡¯re on the verge of death,¡± JT teased, though there was genuine concern in his tone. I huffed, ready to shoot back a retort, but the way he looked at me¡ªconcerned, not patronizing¡ªcaught me off guard. Since when did I care what he thought?


    ¡°It¡¯s hotter than I expected,¡± I admitted, trying to downplay my exhaustion.


    His eyes dropped to my turtleneck, brow raised. ¡°Didn¡¯t realize we were expecting snow.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s for sun protection,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°Right...¡± His concern slid back into amusement. ¡°Let¡¯s get you inside.¡±


    ¡°That was the plan,¡± I said, ruffling Boden¡¯s ears. ¡°But apparently, I make a perfect dog pillow.¡±


    His head followed after my hand as I pulled away.


    JT chuckled. ¡°Yeah, he still thinks he¡¯s a lap puppy. The size thing hasn¡¯t clicked yet.¡±


    ¡°Any tips on getting him off?¡± I asked, instantly regretting the phrasing. Blatant Freudian slip. Great¡ªnow I¡¯m stuck thinking about... Nope. Abort.


    JT grinned. ¡°Simple¡ªdon¡¯t let him on you in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Helpful. Is there a Plan B?¡±


    JT shrugged. ¡°He¡¯ll move when he¡¯s hungry.¡±


    ¡°How long will that take?¡± I asked, exasperated.


    JT smirked. ¡°I¡¯ve got this.¡± He grabbed the key from the gate and disappeared around the front. Moments later, the garage door creaked open, followed by the unmistakable shake of a food bag.


    The effect was instant¡ªlike flipping a switch. Every dog¡¯s head snapped toward the garage, including Boden¡¯s. In perfect unison, they bolted. Boden launched off me like a cannonball, knocking the wind out of me again.


    Only Coy and Maggie the licker, an older German Shepherd, stayed back with me. Coy¡¯s ears pricked in JT¡¯s direction, but a sense of concern and duty kept him by my side. I could tell he was hungry too, but loyalty won out this time.


    I gave him a reassuring pat and sent him a thought. I¡¯m fine, Coy. Go on¡ªget some food.


    He hesitated, then trotted off, followed by Maggie, leaving me to catch my breath and fix my now unkempt updo.


    I found JT in the garage, methodically measuring out food for each dog. Without missing a beat, he explained, ¡°Most of the dogs get the same kibble, but the portions vary depending on their size,¡± he said, scooping a larger portion into a bowl. ¡°Boden here gets a different feed and a larger portion since he¡¯s still a growing boy¡ªand a really big one.¡±


    JT set Boden¡¯s bowl aside and headed into the kitchen to prep smaller portions for Maggie and Murray. ¡°They get wet food,¡± he explained, ¡°they¡¯re older and don¡¯t have the same appetite. I feed them inside¡ªotherwise, the other dogs try to steal it. Especially Boden. He¡¯ll eat anything remotely edible, and it can be hard to stop him.¡±


    The dogs swarmed their bowls, but I noticed Boden eyeing the others¡¯ meals. JT caught my look. ¡°Remember to be vigilant with this one.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± I said, trying to focus on the task at hand. ¡°Keep an eye on Boden and make sure he doesn¡¯t eat the others¡¯ food?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± JT said, setting the bowls down. ¡°God forbid a creature his size get overweight. Typically, I feed them twice a day¡ªmornings and evenings¡ªand you should try to keep that schedule.¡±


    I tried to focus on JT¡¯s words, but my mind wandered. JT had a subtle smell which I found appealing. No noxious cologne, but something simple and earthy, like unscented soap. Cleanliness that didn¡¯t overwhelm the senses.


    He wore a simple Charleston Bridge Run T-shirt and navy scrubs¡ªscrubs? That was unexpected. But he made them look good. Like jeans. A guy who could pull off both rugged and professional.


    I sniffed the air, and sure enough, I caught the faint scent of antiseptic.


    ¡°Hey, JT,¡± I called, following behind him. ¡°What¡¯s with the scrubs? You a doctor or something?¡±


    He smiled. ¡°Vet assistant. For now. I¡¯m working on my license.¡±


    A career-minded guy¡ªcheck. I pictured him in that tight shirt, holding puppies. Mentally, I added another checkbox to my list just to cross it off.


    We left the kitchen, where Maggie and Murray were still eating. The house had a cozy, lived-in vibe¡ªcluttered but well-kept, filled with aquariums of all sizes, open-topped terrariums, and an aviary. Definitely the home of someone who loved animals.


    My attention drifted from the animals to JT¡¯s scrubs hugging his legs, his T-shirt snug across his chest. I could tell he worked out. He was ticking all kinds of boxes¡ªobjective, subjective... and suggestive.


    I needed to stop this. I was here for a job, not a date. Time to stay professional¡ªno crushing on the first cute guy I talked to in ages. I turned my attention back to the house, searching for something¡ªanything¡ªto make small talk with.


    ¡°So... who died for Sandy to get a place like this?¡±


    ¡°Her aunt,¡± JT said simply.


    ¡°Oh... were they close?¡±


    ¡°Like mother and daughter.¡±


    Definitely time for a change of subject.


    ¡°This place feels more like a zoo than a house,¡± I said, glancing around. ¡°Is that... an actual monkey?¡±


    JT nodded. ¡°Yep, that¡¯s Carl. Capuchin monkey¡ªa real troublemaker. Don¡¯t let him out unless Sandy or I are with you. He¡¯s big on breaking things.¡±


    JT paused, giving me a serious look. ¡°You don¡¯t have any knives or lighters on you, do you?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Good. Carl¡¯s a pro at pickpocketing¡ªwas raised by a street gang supposedly, so keep anything dangerous out of reach.¡±


    ¡°Like a gun?¡± I half-joked.


    JT¡¯s deadpan didn¡¯t budge. ¡°Especially a gun.¡±


    I clutched my bag a little tighter as we moved on.


    We walked through the house as JT introduced me to the rest of Sandy¡¯s zoo. In one room, two cockatoos were perched, watching Adventure Time on a tiny TV. JT lifted his arm, whistling, and they flew right to him, alighting on his arm. Honestly, I wasn¡¯t sure what impressed me more¡ªthe animals or how good JT looked handling them.


    ¡°Meet Phin and Ferb,¡± JT said, gesturing to the cockatoos. ¡°They are free to fly around inside¡ªjust don¡¯t let them outside.¡±


    ¡°And Adventure Time?¡± I asked, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Sandy¡¯s teaching them new phrases,¡± JT said. ¡°They came from an evangelical church. They got really good at imitating the pastor¡ªright up until they started saying some pretty blasphemous things in his voice.¡±


    My phone rang. I checked it, but no call, but a woman¡¯s voice answered nonetheless.


    ¡°I¡¯m here to talk about your car¡¯s extended warranty.¡±


    ¡°The hell?¡± I responded.


    The birds squawked with laughter.


    ¡°They love trolling people,¡± JT said with a slight grin. ¡°Watch what you say¡ªthey¡¯ll throw your own words right back at you.¡±


    Looking at me, one of the cockatoos spoke, mimicking JT¡¯s voice perfectly:


    ¡°That¡¯s a nice ass,¡± followed by a playful whistle.


    The other chimed in with an exaggerated, ¡°Amen!¡± in a deep preacher¡¯s voice.


    Heat rushed to my cheeks. JT just shrugged, clearly used to their antics. My mind, of course, spiraled¡ªhad JT said that before? And would he say it to me? The thought made my face burn even hotter.


    Damn it, brain, not now.


    I shook myself, trying to focus. But who was I kidding? My mind had been in the gutter long before JT walked in.


    JT dismissed the birds and, after removing the contents of a nearby drawer, handed me a large notebook labeled Familiar Care, along with a laminated checklist.


    ¡°This has everything you need to know,¡± JT said, suddenly all business. ¡°The checklist covers the essentials, and I¡¯ve already marked off those I fed this morning. I¡¯ve also annotated several of Sandy¡¯s notes since hers aren¡¯t well-organized. Vanessa says you can handle these kinds of things.¡±


    I nodded, flipping through the folder. In truth, I found the sheer amount of information overwhelming. ¡°Well, with all this prep, seems like anyone could do it,¡± I said, trying to hide my nervousness.


    JT shook his head. ¡°I still wouldn¡¯t underestimate these guys. They¡¯re not pets, but you know that. If they weren¡¯t so capable of getting into trouble, Sandy wouldn¡¯t have been asked to foster them. If it were up to me, I wouldn¡¯t hand this job to someone as new as you, but few are willing to take the job.¡±


    I bristled at the sting. ¡°Rude. Didn¡¯t V vouch for me? I don¡¯t need Mr. Tall, Dark, and Veterinarian to save me.¡± I grinned, sensing an opportunity. ¡°But hey, why not give me your number?¡ªIn case I need backup.¡±


    I tried to sound casual but instantly felt like an idiot. Since when did flirting feel like parallel parking¡ªawkward, with way too much room for error?


    JT hesitated, looking a little flustered. Hah¡ªthis time I¡¯d caught him off guard. He pulled out a card. ¡°Alright, but seriously¡ªcall me if anything goes sideways.¡±


    ¡°Sideways in what way? Will Carl set the house on fire or something?¡±


    ¡°Not for a lack of trying.¡±


    Okay... I pocketed the card, nodding. ¡°Thanks, JT.¡±


    As JT kept talking, my gaze drifted to his hands, my mind bouncing between his words and... other things. Only one ring, on his right hand¡ªa graduation ring. Silver. Real silver. Note to self: no shaking hands.


    I sniffed the air as he walked by, searching for hints of feminine shampoo or perfume. To my dismay¡ªa positive match. Cucumber melon. Garnier Fructis. My lycanthropic nose had perfect scent memory¡ªsmell-o-graphic, you could say. Even in human form, I could identify any scent I¡¯d ever encountered before. So, JT had traces of women¡¯s shampoo. From a girlfriend, perhaps?


    No... it wasn¡¯t coming from his clothes.


    I sniffed again, curious.


    ¡°Uh, are you... smelling me?¡± JT asked, one eyebrow raised.


    I fumbled for an excuse. ¡°Uh, I was just curious about your shampoo. Smells... floral.¡±


    JT looked amused. ¡°Oh, that? Cucumber melon. My sister recommended it¡ªbecause of my long hair.¡±


    Knew it.


    ¡°Conditioner, too?¡± I couldn¡¯t help asking.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    So, he used product on himself. His hair must be baby-soft. I caught myself imagining running my fingers through it¡ªagain.


    After wrapping up the tour, JT gave me a few last-minute tips before heading out. I could raid Sandy¡¯s pantry, use her van, and if I needed to purchase anything for the animals, there was cash stashed in the cookie jar above the sink. Sandy would pay me when she got back.


    ¡°Feeding and taking the animals outside for exercise is the easiest way to bond with them. But¡ªand this goes without saying¡ªdon¡¯t let any of the animals out during the next few nights.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, fireworks and a full moon,¡± I replied without thinking. Fireworks were rough on dogs¡ªwolves too. I hadn¡¯t meant to mention the moon, but JT didn¡¯t seem to catch it. He just gave me a thumbs-up and headed out¡ªin a hurry to get back to work.


    As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I collapsed onto the couch, completely drained.


    But exhaustion couldn¡¯t wipe the grin off my face. JT was trouble¡ªthe kind I should avoid. But maybe, just maybe, a little bit of that trouble wouldn¡¯t be so bad.


    The normal kind of trouble I hadn¡¯t had in a while. I might even make a few extra calls¡ªjust for the hell of it.


    I still had to check out the shed and figure out how to avoid waking up in someone else¡¯s yard tomorrow. But that could wait. Right now, I just needed to close my eyes for a minute.


    No sooner had I settled in than Boden launched himself onto my lap, crashing down like a ton of bricks.


    ¡°Seriously, Boden?¡± I wheezed, struggling to breathe. He gazed up at me with those big, innocent eyes, then rolled over, angling for a belly rub.


    Instead, I got steamrolled.

 Chapter 3:

    It took several minutes of wriggling and straining to free myself from beneath Boden. At least this time, I wasn¡¯t completely flat on my back, so I had some leverage. With one last shove, I finally managed to roll the giant furball off me.


    He rolled onto his side with a deep harumph and decided to nap like that, snoring like a chainsaw. Boden was off¡ªwell, most of him. His fur still clung to me like a second skin.


    JT had been gone less than ten minutes, but the house already felt different¡ªstill, but not silent. The faint gurgle of fish tanks, the rustle of wings in the aviary, and the low hum of Phin and Ferb¡¯s TV filled the quiet. It felt like the house was holding its breath. Several of the dogs had come to lounge in the room with me and Boden, watching me with curious eyes.


    I brushed off the fur and grabbed the notebook labeled Familiar Care¡ªtime to ¡°familiarize¡± myself with the job, now that I wasn¡¯t distracted by JT.


    The notebook reminded me of those old biology lab journals from high school¡ªhell, it probably was one. It was thick, worn, with several dog-eared pages and yellow carbon copies between each. Inside, it was a mess of handwritten notes, jumping from one thought to the next. Sandy¡¯s scrawl flipped between English and what I guessed was Latin¡ªwhich I recognized by the scientific names of animals that appeared throughout.


    It read more like a diary than a guidebook. Luckily, JT¡¯s annotations summed up the essentials, and his cheat sheet was a neat, laminated checklist¡ªcomplete with little checkboxes I could mark with dry-erase. It included feeding times, cleaning schedules, and a simple list of dos and don¡¯ts.


    The soft clicking of paws on the hardwood signaled Coy, along with Maggie and Murray, trailing behind me through the house¡ªever the dutiful entourage. Their quiet, watchful presence should¡¯ve been comforting, but it only reminded me how out of place I was¡ªa stranger in Sandy¡¯s carefully curated, more-than-a-little-eccentric world.


    Out of the corner of my eye, something dark glided past¡ªsilent as a shadow. I turned, but only the dogs stood there, watching expectantly. They were waiting for me to take charge. So, I told them to follow.


    As I wandered through the house, Sandy¡¯s peculiar setup became impossible to ignore (now that I wasn¡¯t staring at JT¡¯s ass). Every animal had its own space, tailored less to its species and more to its personality¡ªor style, perhaps.


    Monty, the ball python, lounged in a wicker basket by the window, half-buried under velvet pillows, with just a foot of her body exposed for sunbathing. The guinea pigs, meanwhile, lived in a dollhouse mansion, complete with tiny rooms¡ªeach one bizarrely decorated to suit an individualistic taste, ranging from Victorian to Oriental.


    Terrariums and fish tanks lined the walls, each with its own theme. Some were gardens modeled after famous ruins, while others were stranger¡ªlike the iguanas¡¯ Godzilla-themed terrarium or the fish tank straight out of Waterworld.


    Was Sandy raising animals or building models?


    Camellia¡¯s enclosure stood out¡ªan ornate ring of miniature mirrors, arranged like a hand-mirror Stonehenge, surrounding a perfectly pruned bonsai. Camellia was nowhere to be seen at first, but as I approached, the chameleon seemed to materialize from nowhere, atop the bonsai, turning from a camouflage green to vibrant purple-pink¡ªlilac, perhaps. Neat.


    All in all, this felt less like a zoo and more like... a menagerie. Which was exactly what it was.


    The notebook¡¯s pages didn¡¯t help either. Sandy¡¯s entries were all over the place, jumping from animal to animal and slipping into Latin at random. I recalled that several of my sorority sisters had minored in Latin. Seemed Sandy might have been among them.


    I spotted one term that sent a shiver down my spine¡ªTheraphosidae¡ªassociated with someone, or something, called ¡°Elmo.¡± This meant there was a spider lurking in the house. A big one. Wonderful.


    Even better¡ªtoday was the first of the month, which meant I was supposed to change Elmo¡¯s bedding. I decided that could wait. Indefinitely.


    JT¡¯s annotations were a godsend. They cut through the confusion with clear instructions. Don¡¯t look Monty in the eyes. Fair enough¡ªdirect eye contact was threatening to most animals. And the guinea pigs? No feeding after midnight. Diet restrictions, perhaps? Judging by their chubby little bodies, that checked out.


    I wandered through the house¡ªthere were plenty of chores, but none urgent. The shed out back, though¡ªthat was why I took this job. With all the weirdness inside the house, I had a dreaded feeling that the shed wouldn¡¯t disappoint either.


    <hr>


    The shed wasn¡¯t really a shed¡ªit was more like a small barn, though ¡°small¡± was relative. It had more square footage than my old apartment, which said more about my living situation than the barn.


    Coy bounded ahead, sniffing everything in sight, while Maggie padded beside me, her graying muzzle brushing against my hand with a thought saying, ¡°I¡¯m here if you need me.¡± Apart from the face-licking, the older German Shepherd moved with the patience of a well-trained companion. A retired service dog, perhaps. Murray too. I figured Sandy likely hoped their calm demeanor would rub off on Coy. So far, no such luck.


    I pulled open the barn doors, the earthy scent of hay and dirt wafting out. Straw covered the floor, with bales stacked neatly in the loft above.


    Was Sandy planning to get a horse? Or maybe a pony¡ªthat seemed more her speed. Definitely not enough room for a full-sized horse in her yard.


    Maggie settled into a pile of hay by the door, relaxed but watchful, while Coy dashed around, nose to the ground, eager to sniff out every inch. Murray had stayed on the porch, content to supervise the other dogs. He was older than Maggie, and he had indicated, through dog-speak, that his hips were paining him¡ªthe old fella had arthritis.


    I checked the barn itself¡ªdouble doors that could be barred with a two-by-four, shutters latched tight. The side door could be locked with a key from the keyring I¡¯d found earlier, tucked in the cookie jar with the emergency cash JT mentioned. One of the keys on the ring was labeled ¡®Carl¡¯, and I was pretty sure I knew where that one went.


    I tested the doors by leaning my weight into them¡ªsolid. They could probably hold back a bear, and, at the very least, me. Even if the wolf figured out locks and latches, the main doors and shutters were secured from the outside.


    I was pretty sure the barn would hold me in¡ªso long as the wolf lacked a strong enough reason to escape. It could possibly dig its way out. The auto-dog was unpredictable, but it needed motivation, and I was getting better at cutting that off.


    Two nights until the full moon¡ªjust enough time to troubleshoot. But even if the barn worked out, I¡¯d need another option next month¡ªespecially if Sandy had plans for it.


    Maybe she¡¯d be willing to rent it out: Air B and Barn.


    As I turned to leave, a prickling sensation crawled up my spine. I looked up¡ªthere it was. The black cat from earlier, perched on the loft railing, yellow eyes locked on me. Now that I wasn¡¯t being mobbed by dogs, I got a good look. The cat was huge¡ªprobably a Maine Coon¡ªwith a mane that made it look pompous as all hell.


    Something about its stare irritated the hell out of me. I felt the auto-dog stir¡ªa low growl rising in my throat. I clamped down on it. It¡¯s just a cat, I reminded myself. Albeit, a particularly arrogant-looking one. Thoughts of Kettle Corn surfaced in my mind, accompanied by the taste of bile.


    It was strange. The auto-dog usually stayed quiet during the day, only kicking in when I was threatened¡ªor excited, like earlier with the dogs. Then again, I¡¯d once barked at a squirrel, so maybe cats were just another trigger.


    But, stranger still, I didn¡¯t recall any of Sandy¡¯s notes mentioning a cat. Not once.


    ¡°Coy, you know this cat?¡± I asked, pointing. But when I looked again, the cat had disappeared, and Coy just cocked his head at me.


    I climbed up to the loft to look for the cat, but it was long gone. Instead, I found a small living space¡ªa cot and a table with a single incandescent bulb for lighting. Spartan. Real Spartan, but useful if anyone needed to camp out here. Like me.


    Whatever Sandy planned for this barn, it looked like it required some overnight stays. I decided the barn would do the trick. With that settled, I needed to prep for the night. A store run was in order¡ªcanned dog food, alcohol, and maybe a few other essentials. The pantry had enough food for Maggie and Murray to last the week, but once the wolf got involved, that supply would vanish fast.


    I¡¯d tried feeding it dried food before¡ªnever again. Canned food it was.


    The only alcohol in the house was white wine, Riesling, and I wasn¡¯t about to suffer another wine hangover. If I was heading out anyway, I could squeeze in some Uber rides. Not as good as a steady paycheck, but it worked well with my chaotic schedule. Six hours to burn meant six hours to earn¡ªand Uber¡¯s direct deposit would let me make my minimum payments and reactivate my credit cards.


    It was a solid plan, but first, I had a job to do. The clock read 12:30 p.m.¡ªlunchtime for Sandy¡¯s menagerie.


    <hr>


    Sandy¡¯s kitchen had two refrigerators¡ªone for her and one for the animals. The animal fridge was much bigger, while Sandy¡¯s looked like a college mini-fridge.


    I opened Sandy¡¯s fridge first¡ªgotta take care of the caretaker, right? Inside was tofu, watermelon, and salad mix. She had a spice cabinet, and her pantry was stocked with lentils, rice, and couscous. There was even a small container of eggs¡ªprobably from the chickens out back. With the herb garden I¡¯d seen in the yard, Sandy had quite the homestead going. If I knew how to cook, I might¡¯ve whipped up something impressive, but I lacked both the time and the talent . So, salad mix and watermelon it was.


    With my own stomach taken care of, I moved on to the animal fridge. It was stocked with fresh greens, frozen veggies, and a mix of odds and ends. Sandy¡¯s chickens seemed to eat just about anything, so I tossed them the red cabbage leaves from my salad¡ªnever been a fan¡ªand added the watermelon rinds.


    JT¡¯s cheat sheet said to bulk up their meal with chicken feed to hit the weight target, so I added some in and headed to the coop. The coop looked like an extension of the house¡ªjust fancier, with little windows and a porch. The second the food hit the trough, a dozen hens and a lone rooster descended, devouring the watermelon rinds first, then the feed, leaving the cabbage for last. Guess they weren¡¯t fans of red cabbage either.


    The guinea pigs, lounging in their dollhouse mansion, feasted on sliced veggies, fruit, and nuts¡ªa spread that made my salad look pathetic. Each pig waited eagerly in their room to be served, like fuzzy little royalty.


    Feeding the fish was easy: a quick sprinkle of standard fish food into the tanks scattered throughout the house.


    Outside, tucked into Sandy¡¯s overgrown garden, there was a koi pond with cat-sized goldfish and a few ducks paddling around. The ducks were semi-wild and could mostly fend for themselves, but JT¡¯s notes suggested a large bowl of water with green peas as a treat. Before I could set the bowl down, the ducks swarmed like piranhas, water flying everywhere. My fingers were unable to escape unscathed.


    Phin and Ferb, Sandy¡¯s cockatoos, were gentler on my fingers, but murder on my ears. Before I could finish their bowl of nuts and dried berries, they landed on my shoulders, chanting the Adventure Time theme song and something about apple pies in the oven¡ªbefore switching back to scripture, or something akin to it.


    ¡°And lo, a tithe!¡± Phin squawked, bobbing his head, while Ferb chimed in, ¡°Ten percent pomegranate, mortal!¡±


    Their feeding chart had pomegranate seeds, along with several other items, listed as ¡®on request,¡¯ but I wasn¡¯t about to separate seeds out one by one. I gave them slices instead.


    ¡°Blasphemy!¡± Phin screeched, puffing up in protest.


    ¡°Unacceptable!¡± Ferb shrieked at a pitch that made my ears ring.


    ¡°You can¡¯t expect me to pluck them out,¡± I shouted back, only for them to mimic me even louder: ¡°Pluck them out! Pluck them out!¡±


    The raven in the corner watched in silence. JT¡¯s notes said not to use his name or quote Poe, which I assumed to be a joke. With no name provided, I addressed him as ¡°Nevermore.¡±


    ¡°Nevermore,¡± the raven croaked back and happily accepted the nuts and blueberries I¡¯d provided.


    Feeding Monty, the ball python, was trickier than expected. She only ate once a week¡ªand of course, today was feeding day. Her meal? Live mice, conveniently housed in the same room. Why keep prey so close to the predator? No clue. But the instructions were clear: catch a mouse, drop it into Monty¡¯s terrarium. Whether I was supposed to lower Monty from her basket or let her handle it herself, I decided she could do the honors.


    The first mouse I grabbed bit me¡ªhard. Another insult to my already bruised fingers. I cursed and dropped it, clutching my hand as the little beast scurried off behind a stand. Panic rose as I scanned the room, trying to figure out how to catch the damn thing.


    That¡¯s when I heard a pained squeak, and a black cat¡ªthe same black cat from earlier¡ªappeared from behind the stand, mouse in its jaws. It trotted over with an air of smug satisfaction.


    How the arrogant little (well, not that little) cat had gotten in, I didn¡¯t know. Sandy¡¯s home was apparently full of mysteries¡ªand full of holes in need of patching.


    The cat leapt onto the table, sending the caged mice into a frenzy, as if it wanted to show off its catch. I reached out to pet it, but it swatted my hand, claws nicking my already bruised fingers before hopping down. It knocked a pair of garden gloves to the floor¡ªgloves I hadn¡¯t even noticed.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I muttered, slipping on the gloves. The cat, mouse still in its jaws, strutted off into the hallway. At least I wouldn¡¯t need to feed it now.


    I managed to catch a second mouse, which bit futilely into the gloves, and carried it to Monty¡¯s terrarium. Before I could drop the mouse in, Monty lunged from her sunning basket, striking so fast I let out an undignified yelp. She snatched the mouse from three feet away¡ªeasily, and that wasn¡¯t even half her length. I hadn¡¯t realized how long she was, what with all the pillows she was buried under.


    Monty coiled around the squeaking mouse, squeezing until the noise stopped. My stomach lurched.


    I wasn¡¯t done with the mice yet. Sandy had a parliament of owls¡ªfive of them¡ªalso on a live mouse diet. They weren¡¯t due to eat until nightfall, but since I¡¯d be going wolf before sunset, I¡¯d have to get it over with early.


    The owls didn¡¯t seem to mind the early meal. Food was food. Following JT¡¯s notes, I found the raptor gloves and offered each owl a mouse, holding it carefully by the scruff. One by one, they swooped down to my wrist, plucked the mouse, and returned to their perches to gulp it down in a single, horrific motion.


    I hadn¡¯t realized owls swallowed their prey whole. And here I thought watching Monty constrict a mouse had been disturbing.


    Each owl was a different species. I recognized the barred and the barn owls, but that was about it. Still, they all followed the same grim routine, and I had to look away more than once to avoid losing my salad to the gruesome sight.


    Sandy also had a hawk, Tobi, but according to JT¡¯s notes, Tobi mostly hunted for himself¡ªsquirrels, primarily. He wasn¡¯t in the enclosure, so basically, a wild hawk that just hung around. Why Sandy had pages of detailed notes on him but nothing about the mysterious black cat was anyone¡¯s guess.


    Next up: crickets and mealworms. Sandy definitely had a thing for feeding live prey, and the insectivores¡ªlizards, turtles, frogs¡ªwere no exception.


    The enclosures were dimly lit, and as soon as I cracked open the cricket container, a disaster unfolded. Dozens of crickets spilled out, crawling straight into my sleeves. I let out a shriek, flailing as I tried to shake them off, while the dogs rushed in, eager to join the excitement.


    Boden, in true Boden fashion, decided crickets were fair game and began licking them up, whether they were on the floor or still on me. One more for Team Licker.


    Unlike the crickets, the mealworms didn¡¯t try to escape. They just squirmed and clicked, adding to the overall gross factor. The smell, though¡ªGod, it was awful. I gagged, holding my breath as I scooped them into a red Solo cup.


    JT had left a note about separating the pupae for some breeding project Sandy was running, but I drew the line at worm husbandry. I signed up to care for the animals, not their food. That was a task for JT and Sandy.


    Fortunately, nearly all the reptiles could eat mealworms, which meant I could speed up the process. Hell, even the guinea pigs could snack on them, though I wasn¡¯t about to feed them worms without good reason. Camellia, now sporting an icky shade of yellow-green¡ªmore a pea soup than chartreuse¡ªsnatched up her mealworms with that long tongue of hers. The frogs followed suit, while the turtles snapped them up from the ground.


    Cassie, the bearded dragon, had her own private enclosure. Unlike the open-air habitats the other reptiles enjoyed, her enclosure was fully enclosed, and JT¡¯s notes specifically mentioned that her mealworms needed to be roasted first.


    The room where Cassie lived was like a sauna, courtesy of the multiple heat lamps aimed at every possible angle. Honestly, I could¡¯ve just roasted the worms by leaving them in there for a few minutes.


    How this wasn¡¯t a fire hazard was beyond me. The branches and rocks inside the enclosure appeared scorched. The two fire extinguishers mounted on the wall didn¡¯t inspire confidence, either.


    Cassie herself seemed perfectly content in the sweltering heat. She basked beneath the lamps, head arched back, eyes closed. Guess they weren¡¯t called dragons for nothing.


    A culinary torch and a metal strainer sat on a shelf nearby. I wasn¡¯t a chef, but even I could figure out what to do next. Pouring the mealworms into the strainer, I used the torch to roast them.


    The popping sound, paired with the acrid smell of burning grubs, was enough to make me dry heave. Cassie, however, perked right up and shuffled over to her scorched, bowl-shaped rock, eager for her meal¡ªworms served extra well-done.


    With Cassie satisfied, that left just two residents: Carl and Elmo. I¡¯d saved them for last, not out of convenience, but sheer dread¡ªfor very different reasons.


    Elmo was easy to explain: I hated spiders. And at 4.5 ounces, if Sandy¡¯s scattered notes were accurate, Elmo was massive¡ªfor a spider.


    Carl, on the other hand, was the only animal that had more notes from JT than Sandy. To Sandy, Carl was an angel who was just misunderstood. JT, however, called him a menace. Considering Carl¡¯s enclosure had an actual lock and key, I was more inclined to believe JT.


    Carl lived in a separate room from the other animals, and his enclosure took up an entire wall, flush against floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out toward the trees. Pictures had been draw on the walls of the enclosure, objects and figures Carl could use for communication. JT¡¯s notes came with a clear warning: ¡°Only bring the bare minimum.¡± Beneath it was a list of forbidden items, including lighters, knives, hairpins, wires, balloons, rubber bands, chewing gum, and superglue.


    For anything not on the list, I guess I was to use common sense, or Murphy¡¯s Law: ¡°Anything not pinned down can¡ªand will¡ªbe used against you in the court of Carl.¡±


    I decided to leave my bag in the hall. Better safe than sorry.


    Carl¡¯s story intrigued me¡ªwhat had this little Capuchin done to earn such a reputation? Why did JT seem so wary of him, while Sandy treated him like a misunderstood genius? Sandy seemed to get along with Carl, but her notes didn¡¯t explain why. Maybe if I didn¡¯t treat him like a criminal, he wouldn¡¯t act like one.


    Still, it was hard to shake the criminal image¡ªespecially after reading the feeding notes. I had to use a sliding tray, like in high-security prisons. Even the tray looked like it was pilfered from a prison cafeteria¡ªor a public school.


    The food was better than what I¡¯d gotten during my brief stint in jail: diced fruit, chopped veggies, half a boiled egg (shell included), nuts, dried meat, and a couple of primate biscuits. I carefully organized each item in separate sections¡ªSandy and JT were both explicit: certain foods must never touch. Red touching yellow will make Carl bellow.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    I threw in a few dried banana chips¡ªCarl¡¯s favorite. They were used by Sandy as a reward for good behavior. Carl hadn¡¯t wronged me yet, so that was good in my book. Besides, Sandy¡¯s notes stressed patience and positive reinforcement when training a Capuchin, and I wanted Carl on my side.


    Carl waited for me on his pastel pink rope swing¡ªthe only pop of color in the sterile room. The room and the way he watched me reminded me of the scene in Silence of the Lambs. I half-expected him to say, ¡°Hello, Clarice.¡±


    His enclosure was sparse¡ªSandy and JT had given him toys, but he either broke them or turned them into escape tools. I slid the tray through the slot and stepped back. JT¡¯s notes instructed me to watch Carl eat and retrieve the tray afterward¡ªpart of his ¡®good behavior¡¯ training. He had a habit of dodging certain foods, which led to him having a vitamin C deficiency, so I had to make sure he ate it all.


    Carl swung over, picked through the tray, and, unsurprisingly, went for the dried meat and banana chips first. So far, so good. Then, without warning, Carl hurled the tray back, launching fruits, veggies, and nuts across the floor.


    ¡°What the hell?¡± I muttered as Carl screamed at me, rattling the bars like a tiny inmate. Sighing, I cleaned up the scattered food and checked JT¡¯s notes. Apparently, I had to try again once he calmed down.


    Well, no more banana chips for him.


    It was nearing 2 p.m., and I was ready to run errands¡ªmaybe make some cash with Uber. Carl could wait. Perhaps a little hunger would improve his manners. That left Elmo.


    Unlike the other insectivores, it was recommended that I feed Elmo crickets instead of mealworms¡ªbut it didn''t say that I couldn''t. A bigger problem was that today was the first of the month, which meant cleaning his enclosure. JT¡¯s notes said Elmo was ¡°easy to handle¡±¡ªdocile, even. I wasn¡¯t convinced. And even though Elmo was technically a ¡®she,¡¯ thanks to Sesame Street, I could only think of him as ¡®he.¡¯


    So yeah, I was misgendering a tarantula. Sue me.


    I Googled Elmo¡¯s species: Poecilotheria ornata¡ªthe Fringed Ornamental Tarantula. According to PetFAQs, they had the most reported bites of their genus, were highly defensive, and had venom that could leave you hurting for months. Also, fast and prone to escaping. The thought of one loose in the house made my skin crawl.


    This was a disaster waiting to happen.


    Elmo¡¯s enclosure was tucked away in the back hallway¡ªfor good reason. None of the online photos did him justice. Splayed out on a sheet of pine bark like a giant, creepy Spider-Man logo, his blood-red hairs stood out against his brown fringed pattern. His mandibles twitched as I stared.


    ¡°Nope,¡± I muttered, spinning on my heel. Elmo could starve for all I cared¡ªI wasn¡¯t getting any closer.


    My escape was halted by the black cat, which appeared behind me¡ªa silent shadow, blocking my path. I would¡¯ve walked around it but froze. In its mouth was a massive, writhing grasshopper. My stomach twisted at the thought of it doing what cats usually do¡ªdropping dead things at their owner¡¯s feet. Except this cat wasn¡¯t mine, and that grasshopper wasn¡¯t dead.


    The cat padded closer, backing me into a corner between a spider (thankfully contained) and an armed cat (definitely not contained). Vaulting over the cat briefly crossed my mind, but before I could move, it dropped the grasshopper. My heart skipped a beat. The cat pinned the bug with one paw, then looked at me expectantly.


    Did it want me to pick it up? Why? The cat glanced at Elmo, then back at me. It lifted its paw, then pinned the grasshopper again, as if growing impatient.


    Was this payback for the mouse? What was I supposed to do with a grasshopper?


    Feed it to Elmo¡ªobviously.


    I pinched the grasshopper by its back legs, holding it away from myself like a piece of rotting garbage. It squirmed in my grip as the cat sauntered off. Prick.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just get this over with,¡± I muttered. ¡°One more little task, then we¡¯re done with this shit.¡±


    Elmo only needed one cricket every two days, and this grasshopper was easily the size of three. It¡¯d keep him fed until Sandy got back.


    Elmo¡¯s mandibles twitched as I neared his enclosure, legs shifting in anticipation. The average Fringed Ornamental Tarantula had a ten-inch leg span, but Elmo was above average. He could probably wrap his legs around a basketball¡ªor my face.


    I swallowed a scream.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking move, Elmo, I swear to God,¡± I muttered, easing the latch open. It was meant for dropping in food, but it looked big enough for Elmo to squeeze through if he wanted to.


    Elmo¡¯s species was arboreal, so his enclosure was tall¡ªforcing me to reach over my head, putting my face uncomfortably close to the glass. My heart pounded in my ears.


    Elmo, thankfully, stayed put as I dropped the grasshopper inside. It hit the bedding with a dull thump, then hopped to a branch, blissfully unaware of the horror looming above.


    Elmo didn¡¯t strike right away. Instead, he did something odd¡ªhe waved, wiggling his front legs. Or maybe those were his pedipalps.


    No way, I thought. I¡¯d probably spooked him, being a big ol¡¯ human and all. This was probably just a threat pose.


    I was definitely losing it. I made a beeline for the front door, desperate to get out of the house and back to some semblance of normalcy.


    And to think I was actually hoping to live here.


    With Sandy¡¯s menagerie finally fed and watered, I could focus on making my day productive. If JT could juggle this circus and still hold down a job, so could I.


    A few Uber rides could add a little cash to my account¡ªnot much after insurance and gas, but enough to stay ahead of my credit card minimums. One less thing eating me alive.


    I stepped outside and Coy followed.


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not coming with me, Coy,¡± I said, and instructed him to return to the house as I got into my car, or, at least, I tried to. I was locked out and missing my keys. Must¡¯ve dropped them in the yard.


    Coy was right behind me when I turned around, having chosen to belay my most recent order. I sighed. ¡°Fine, help me find my keys.¡±


    I searched the yard, half-convinced I¡¯d dropped the keys while wrangling the dogs. Then I checked the barn. No luck either.


    I retraced my steps through the yard and house, yielding the same results¡ªor lack thereof.


    Just as frustration set in, Coy trotted back, signaling he¡¯d found my keys.


    ¡°Where?¡± I asked, hoping for an easy answer.


    Coy¡¯s response was simple: Carl.


    I groaned. Of course. I¡¯d left my keys in my jeans, and that little bastard must¡¯ve picked my pocket while I was cleaning. Must¡¯ve gotten too close.


    A thought struck me¡ªhad that been his plan all along?


    Capuchins were smart, but that¡­ that was devious, if true.


    Sure enough, when I reached his cage, Carl was swinging lazily on his pastel-pink swing, jingling my keys.


    When I demanded them back, he gave me a look that, to me, said, You want them? Come and get them.


    He tossed the keys just behind the cage door, daring me to open it. I knew, in the back of my mind, that if I did, Carl would be out of here in a heartbeat. That was his plan, I was certain.


    ¡°Nice try, Carl,¡± I responded, refusing to take the bait. Time for a counter-offer.


    I headed to the kitchen, grabbed the bag of banana chips, and returned to Carl¡¯s room. Let¡¯s see how big of a sucker he was for these things.


    ¡°Give me my keys, and I¡¯ll give you chips,¡± I said, holding up the bag.


    But Carl didn¡¯t yield.


    Through a series of pointing at pictures and gesticulating, he indicated that I was to give him the chips first. I knew exactly what would happen¡ªhe¡¯d take the chips, keep the keys, and probably demand more.


    I wasn¡¯t about to negotiate with a tiny terrorist.


    ¡°Chips are for good behavior, Carl,¡± I said. ¡°Handing me the keys is good behavior.¡±


    Carl gave me the finger¡ªtwo of them.


    Alright, Carl. Time to play hardball. I waved a chip just under his nose, then popped it into my mouth before he could swipe it.


    Carl screeched, flailing his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum, reaching through the slot toward me.


    ¡°Every twenty seconds you keep acting up, I¡¯m eating another chip,¡± I warned, waving the bag in his direction. ¡°And trust me, Carl¡ªI¡¯m hungry.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t even a lie¡ªI¡¯d eaten, sure, but hunger was basically my default setting. Carl acted like he didn¡¯t understand, but I knew better. He was trying to call my bluff. Too bad for him¡ªI wasn¡¯t bluffing.


    I set a timer and started eating a chip every twenty seconds.


    Five minutes in, Carl was full-on screaming, doing laps around his cage like a tiny, furry hurricane. The angrier he got, the more stubborn he became.


    Instead of surrendering the keys, Carl dug a hole, dropped them in, defecated on them, and buried them.


    I stared, dumbfounded. This little fucker had just shit on my keys.


    I ate the rest of the chips, ignoring the queasiness in my gut. It wasn¡¯t about the chips (or their potential laxative effects)¡ªit was about the principle.


    With my keys locked in Carl¡¯s little prison, I had no choice but to borrow Sandy¡¯s minivan. JT had said I could use it for errands¡ªso, no ridesharing, but Uber Delivery and DoorDash were still on the table. Besides, I needed groceries.


    Sure, using someone else¡¯s car was technically against Uber¡¯s policy, but I wasn¡¯t transporting people¡ªjust food. Things only got litigious when humans were involved.


    I fished the minivan keys out of the cookie jar¡ªSandy¡¯s go-to hiding spot for everything, apparently. The van was an old Ford Freestar, and as soon as I opened the door, the stench of a dog hit me like a wall.


    It was like stepping into a kennel. This bad boy would definitely earn me a 5-star review¡ªif the passengers were dogs.


    I clicked the garage door opener on the visor and started the van.


    Glancing back to reverse, I almost jumped out of my skin¡ªCoy was sitting in the back seat, looking smug as ever.


    ¡°Oh, come on!¡±


    I threw the van in park and opened the side door. ¡°Out, Coy.¡±


    He hopped out, and eight more dogs surged in, their excited thoughts slamming into me. The van starting? That meant one thing to them¡ªdog park time.


    The kitchen door to the garage had been left open. Probably Coy¡¯s work¡ªMr. Master-of-Opening-Doors.


    As I wrestled with the dog swarm, Coy snuck back in, this time claiming shotgun as my self-elected co-pilot.


    ¡°Guys, seriously. I¡¯m just going to the store. This isn¡¯t a field trip.¡±


    The wave of disappointment hit me like a freight train. Their pleading eyes radiated pure, soul-crushing sadness. Gah! Not the peer pressure¡ªa weakness greater than silver. It weighed on me like Boden sitting on my chest all over again.


    Come on, AJ, take charge. Be the captain. Don¡¯t let a pack of dogs walk all over you. Assert yourself!


    Naturally, I caved.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I groaned, ¡°you can come along.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s a quick trip, and you¡¯re all staying in the car,¡± I added quickly, before they got any wild ideas.


    This cheered them up a little. But now delivery runs were out¡ªthere was barely room for my own groceries, let alone someone else¡¯s. Plus, with Boden on board, any food deliveries were doomed. If he liked crickets, just wait until he smelt Jimmy John¡¯s.


    Probably for the best anyway. I didn¡¯t need to split my focus with multiple gigs¡ªbetter to nail down one thing at a time.


    I cranked up the AC¡ªand was greeted by a warm breeze. The fan worked, but that was it.


    In unison, three windows rolled down¡ªapparently, Sandy had taught them how to use the buttons. Four heads popped out of each, with Coy, of course, claiming the passenger window for himself.


    I sighed and rolled down mine too.


    <hr>


    With Costco just down the road in West Ashley, the errand ended up being a short trip. I found Sandy¡¯s Costco card in the glove box and was already plotting a membership split¡ªa small bonus if I ended up as her roommate.


    I wasn¡¯t totally sold on being roommates yet, but the Costco deal? I could definitely sell her on that, whether I moved in or not.


    I parked near the entrance and left the van running with the windows down, cranking the fans as high as they¡¯d go.


    ¡°Stay put,¡± I warned them, assigning Coy to keep the others in line and Maggie to watch Coy. Coy might be the general, but Maggie was definitely the trusted advisor.


    I was quick¡ªjust dog food, Blue Moons, and some microwave meals. But when I got back, the van was surrounded by shoppers, all doing an impromptu meet-and-greet with the dogs.


    To be fair, the sticker on the van did say: Beware of Dogs, They Love to Cuddle.


    Coy and Maggie assured me that everything was under control. Apparently, Sandy¡¯s dogs were local celebrities here in West Ashley.


    You should¡¯ve seen their faces when some random stranger¡ªme¡ªshowed up to load groceries into the van.


    I explained I was just watching Sandy¡¯s animals while she was out of town. When they asked if I was family and I told them I was a college friend, they looked even more surprised.


    Was it really that strange for Sandy to have friends?


    Back at Sandy¡¯s, I crammed the groceries into the tiny fridge before hunting down the guest room. It was more of a glorified broom closet¡ªjust big enough for a bunk bed and a tiny desk, but I could make it work.


    At first, I actually thought it was a broom closet and had to ask Coy for directions. A metal pipe stuck out from the wall for hanging clothes, and the doorknob jangled loosely as I pushed it open.


    The master bedroom¡ªformerly Sandy¡¯s aunt¡¯s¡ªwas now the turtle room. The guest room felt untouched¡ªfreshly made beds, no clothes, no personal items. It made me wonder: where did Sandy sleep? Another closet like this? The attic? Or was she roughing it on that cot in the barn?


    I dropped my bag on the bottom bunk and set up my laptop on the desk. The wifi network? Noonvale. The password? fur&freedom123¡ªapparently, Sandy was a Redwall fan. But, if true, that put a much darker spin on the use of live mice.


    With no Uber gigs on the horizon, I had a few hours to kill. There was a Zoom meeting I¡¯d planned to skip, but maybe fate was telling me to suck it up and join.


    It was for the young and entrepreneurially minded, hosted by some group called Entrepreneurs Helping Entrepreneurs. I¡¯d been invited by Sally, a woman I met at a networking event. Since my work as a personal accountant technically meant I was self-employed, I figured I qualified.


    To create a somewhat professional backdrop¡ªor at least one that wouldn¡¯t glitch out on Zoom¡ªI tacked a white sheet to the ceiling behind the desk and set a lamp behind my laptop for decent lighting.


    My ancient laptop had a terrible mic, so I used my phone for the meeting and kept the laptop nearby for quick Google searches¡ªwouldn¡¯t want to look incompetent in front of my fellow ¡®entrepreneurs¡¯.


    I gave Coy strict orders to guard the door and make sure nothing disturbed me. I didn¡¯t know how long the meeting would last, but I prayed it would be worth the time.


    It wasn¡¯t. The group of ¡®altruistic entrepreneurs¡¯ turned out to be an MLM recruitment scheme in disguise. I¡¯d half-expected it¡ªany group pushing The Business of the 21st Century by Robert Kiyosaki was suspect¡ªbut I was still disgusted at how much of my time they¡¯d wasted.


    As if sensing my frustration, Coy let Maggie in. She sat next to me, placing her head in my lap. Petting her soft fur was surprisingly therapeutic. Maybe being Sandy¡¯s roommate wouldn¡¯t be so bad. Free therapy dogs were definitely a nice perk.


    My mood lifted, and I got back to work, this time applying for a credit swap. If approved, I could transfer my debt to a new card with 18 months of 0% interest. It wouldn¡¯t solve my financial problems, but it¡¯d give me some breathing room.


    After that, I knocked out a few job applications and fired off some interview emails.


    Maggie curled up beside me on the bottom bunk while I worked. When the door creaked open, I assumed it was just Coy checking in.


    But instead of Coy, the black cat leapt onto my desk, strolling casually across my keyboard with what I thought was a ball of red yarn. The color alone should¡¯ve been a warning.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I picked up the cat and gently set him on the floor, but not before he dropped the ¡®ball¡¯ in my lap. It took me a second, but when I glanced down, my blood ran cold.


    It wasn¡¯t yarn. It was Elmo¡ªballed up.


    I was torn between hoping the cat had killed him and not wanting Sandy¡¯s pet to die on my watch. But since this was Elmo, I was really, really hoping he was dead.


    He wasn¡¯t dead¡ªjust stunned. His legs unfurled, wriggling like something out of Alien.


    How the cat got Elmo out of his enclosure and into my lap, I had no idea. Maybe Elmo escaped and this was the cat returning a prisoner. But figuring this out wasn¡¯t the first thing on my mind.


    I screamed and jumped up, trying to fling Elmo off me¡ªonly to trip over the chair and get tangled in the sheet I¡¯d hung from the ceiling.


    Disoriented, on hands and knees, I scrambled for the door¡ªonly to slam it shut on myself. Panicking, I fumbled with the knob, yanking it clean off. Of course, it chose now to fall apart.


    This whole house was conspiring against me.


    ¡°Maggie, find Elmo!¡± I half-whispered, half-yelled, wrapping myself in the sheet, frozen in place, knees tucked into my chest.


    Maggie, bless her heart, had no luck. Elmo was probably up somewhere out of reach, being arboreal and all. Instead, Maggie sat beside me, resting her head in my lap, offering comfort in my time of need.


    What I really needed was to get the hell out¡ªand to call for backup.


    Peeking out from my sheet cocoon, I spotted my phone a few feet away. I sent a thought to Maggie, who fetched it for me, ever the dutiful helper.


    I called JT.


    ¡°JT, Sandy¡¯s cat just dropped Elmo in my lap, and now I¡¯m stuck in the room with him!¡± I hissed.


    ¡°Dang, my money was on you calling about Carl. So, what do you mean by ¡®stuck¡¯?¡±


    ¡°The guest room¡¯s doorknob fell apart, and now I¡¯m stuck in here!¡±


    ¡°Did the side with the shaft fall into the hall?¡± JT said calmly. ¡°If so, you can exit through the window. I¡¯ll come fix it after work.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not worried about the door, JT¡ªI can fix that! It¡¯s the tarantula Sandy¡¯s cat dropped in my lap!¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°What cat?¡± JT finally asked.


    ¡°Big black Maine Coon with yellow eyes! Keeps bringing me bugs¡ªring a bell?¡±


    ¡°Nope. Must be a stray. Sandy doesn¡¯t keep cats; she¡¯s allergic. Anyway, don¡¯t worry about Elmo. She¡¯s harmless¡ªactually very affectionate. Tarantulas can make great pets.¡±


    ¡°Affectionate? Affectionate!¡± I echoed, incredulous. Maggie let out a low huff, but I ignored her.


    ¡°Yeah, she doesn¡¯t take much to warm up to. Loves to be tickled.¡±


    ¡°Tickle Elmo? Is this a joke?¡± My voice shot up a few octaves.


    ¡°I usually use the feather by her enclosure, but in your case, you could use your hair as a tassel.¡±


    ¡°And why would I ever get my face close enough to tickle him with my hair?¡±


    ¡°To make her your friend, of course.¡±


    ¡°And why, exactly, would I want to be friends with a tarantula?¡±


    ¡°Who wouldn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t do spiders, JT!¡±


    JT chuckled. ¡°Think of this as a chance for personal growth. Overcome a deep-seated fear. Or does Ms. I-Know-What-I¡¯m-Doing need Mr. Tall, Dark, and Veterinarian to come save her?¡±


    ¡°Over my dead body!¡±


    ¡°Then it sounds like you¡¯ve got all the motivation you need to pet a spider.¡±


    I hung up, thoroughly annoyed. Make light of my dire circumstances, will you? I¡¯ll wipe that pretty little grin off your pretty little face¡­ somehow.


    Maggie nudged me again, so I peeked out from under the sheet. She indicated that she had found Elmo. He was right on my knee.


    Elmo¡¯s legs twitched, sending cold shivers down my spine. My body was rigid with the knowledge that one wrong move could provoke him. With trembling fingers, I forced myself to extend a hand and rub the top of his head, my mind racing with facts about tarantula bites and potent venom.


    Most tarantula bites weren¡¯t dangerous to humans, but Elmo wasn¡¯t most tarantulas. He was an Old World tarantula¡ªno urticating hairs, just venom that made a wasp sting feel like a pinprick. Considering the cost of antivenom in the U.S., one bite could send me into financial ruin from which I¡¯d never return. Or the grave, if I was lucky.


    To my shock¡ªand disgust¡ªElmo lifted into my touch, nuzzling my hand like a damn cat.


    Turns out, Elmo also loved being stroked, and loved his belly rubbed. After he rolled into my lap, onto his back, I hesitantly wiggled my fingers against his abdomen, expecting him to snap. But no¡ªhe curled around my hand, playing with my fingers like a cat during a belly rub¡ªminus the teeth and claws.


    Speaking of teeth, his fangs kept me on edge. Elmo¡¯s were nearly an inch long, and they had my mind running in circles¡ªmost reported bites of their genus. I was too drained to panic but too wired to go into autopilot¡ªeven the auto-dog seemed to have called it quits.


    Then, without warning, Elmo decided he was done playing on his back.


    Still gripping my hand, Elmo proceeded to climb up my arm. I froze, my breath catching, a string of curses flowing out of my lips as he scuttled past my shoulder, then up the back of my head. Half the nerves in my body screamed at me to move, the other half to hold absolutely still. I was going to tear a muscle at this rate.


    When he finally settled on top of my head like some nightmarish hat, all I could think was, at least he didn¡¯t go for the facehugger approach.


    ¡°Out of sight, out of mind,¡± I told myself, trying to slow my racing heart. Maybe if I didn¡¯t have to look at him, it¡¯d make this easier. He seemed content where he was, so I carefully opened the window and crawled out, moving slowly, making sure not to jostle my terrifying passenger.


    With Elmo now ¡®handled¡¯, I could check off the last thing on my list¡ªcleaning his enclosure (excluding Carl, who lost meal privileges after shitting on my keys). But when I reached the enclosure, the latch at the top was ajar. I knew it wasn¡¯t me¡ªI¡¯d triple-checked it earlier, and if I¡¯d had a brick handy, I would¡¯ve put it on top.


    Someone¡ªor something¡ªhad opened it.


    I wasn¡¯t one for superstitions, but that was before I became a werewolf. For God¡¯s sake, I could talk to dogs. So, being a werewolf begged certain questions, like: if lycanthropy was real, then what else was real?


    Charleston was a supposed hotspot for haunted houses. Perhaps Sandy¡¯s house was also haunted. Or maybe it was the animals that were haunted. Or both¡ªone did not exclude the other.


    But perhaps I was going crazy, and there was still a rational explanation.


    Carl? I checked¡ªhe was still in his cage. Maybe the cat. Apparently, for many of Sandy¡¯s animals, doors were just suggestions, not obstacles.


    Their above-average intelligence could be a sign of something more, or just the result of good training. I didn¡¯t know. It wasn¡¯t like I had a good baseline for such things.


    I used the piece of the broken doorknob to let Maggie out. Many of the other dogs had crowded around outside, drawn by the commotion. I sent them off, then went back to Elmo¡¯s enclosure.


    Changing the bedding was easier than expected. The bottom slid out like a tray, with a wire mesh holding up the decorations. Among the bedding: the husk of a thoroughly drained grasshopper, the molted exoskeleton of Elmo, and¡ªsurprisingly¡ªa tiny, very alive frog.


    It should¡¯ve shocked me, but after researching Fringed Ornamental Tarantulas, I knew a thing or two. For one, they kept frogs as pets.


    ¡°If you¡¯re Elmo, then I¡¯m guessing this is Dorothy.¡± I wasn¡¯t sure if Elmo understood references to Sesame Street, but he seemed pleased when I allowed Dorothy to hop atop my head to join him (if him wiggling was a sign of contentment).


    Great. Now I had a spider and a frog on my head. All I needed now were a few dogs, and I¡¯d be two cockatoos short of a Disney princess.


    I replaced the bedding and waited for the humidifier to do its job, then opened the top for Elmo. He crawled down my arm with Dorothy perched on his head, just like he¡¯d ridden on mine. I found a Tupperware in the kitchen for Elmo¡¯s old carapace. It was rather intact and I intended to save it for my sister Chelley. She loved these sorts of things, and after what Elmo had put me through, neither he nor Sandy were in a position to object.


    Once Elmo was settled, I returned to the guest room and disassembled the doorknob completely, leaving the pieces in the desk drawer for JT to fix later. Then I sat at the desk and started searching for rooms to rent.


    If this place was in fact haunted, Sandy would literally have to pay me to live here.


    Even free therapy dogs and cheap rent weren¡¯t enough to put up with this bullshit.

 Chapter 4:

    As I had suspected, searching for rooms to rent turned out to be a lost cause. With my card still declining and holiday pricing in full swing, the options were as grim as I¡¯d expected. Even if I found something within my price range, there was the small matter of accommodating a werewolf. Not exactly a hot selling point on VRBO or Zillow.


    Not even a day had gone by and Ms. Patterson¡¯s offer was already starting to look appealing. The thought made me sick.


    So, I decided to spend the next hour in the bathroom.


    Not just to sulk, either. By some grace of God, I hadn¡¯t wet myself when Elmo crawled up my arm, and it seemed wise to eliminate any future risk before tackling the rest of Sandy¡¯s chores.


    That, and the banana chips were running their course.


    I turned on the faucet and let the water run¡ªmostly to drown out the racket from the other side of the door. Between squawking birds, yapping dogs, and the rustling of mice and other tiny creatures, the house seemed alive with noise. Even the memory of handling the mice, crickets, and mealworms lingered¡ªtheir frantic squeals, the chirping that never stopped, and the feel of tiny legs crawling on my skin. I shuddered, recalling the sensation of Elmo¡¯s hairy limbs skittering up my arm and neck. The kind of experiences that would come back to haunt your dreams.


    But here, at least, I could breathe. The bathroom, with its pale green walls, bamboo towel rack, and a potted succulent on the windowsill, was a little sanctuary. The soft trickle of the faucet blended with the peaceful d¨¦cor¡ªa ceramic leaf-shaped soap dish, clean white towels. Rather Feng Shui. It was the one place in the house where I didn¡¯t feel smothered by the noise, the fur, or things that wanted to crawl on me.


    From outside, I could hear the faint click of paws against the floorboards, and a few wet noses appeared under the door, sniffing curiously. Apparently, personal space wasn¡¯t something these animals understood. I locked the door, just in case one of them felt I was in need of company. I imagined that Coy wasn¡¯t the only one for whom doors posed no real obstacle. Like, say, a cat that insisted on bringing me bugs.


    I settled in for the long haul, pulling out Sandy¡¯s notebook, Familiar Care. Some light reading while perched on the porcelain throne. I also had my phone handy with Google Translate open, ready to decode Sandy¡¯s cryptic Latin scribbles.


    There was something about this notebook that didn¡¯t sit right. Familiar Care. It sounded straightforward, but I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling I¡¯d missed something. Couldn¡¯t ¡®familiar¡¯ also mean something else? Maybe this wasn¡¯t just about the familiar aspects of animal care.


    I flipped through the notebook. Most of the entries I tried to translate didn¡¯t make any sense. Half the time, Google spit back exactly what I typed in, as if it were Lorem Ipsum text. Utter gibberish. Odd, because the syntax felt structured, and I recognized bits of scientific names sprinkled throughout. It had the look of Latin¡ªenough to trick someone¡ªbut it didn¡¯t read like Latin.


    Perhaps some kind of transliteration¡ªa different language, dressed up in the Latin alphabet¡ªsame as English, just different phonetics. Something meant to be spoken. But I¡¯d seen enough horror movies to know you don¡¯t go muttering strange words in a creepy house. At least, not unless you wanted the walls to start bleeding, or summon the Ghost of Rent Payments Past.


    Instead, I skimmed through the rest of the notebook. Whenever Sandy made an entry for a new foster animal, she always ended with a hand-drawn picture of the creature. The drawings were surprisingly detailed¡ªrealistic but with a comic-book flair. Sharp lines, clean shading. Not quite what you¡¯d expect from a biology journal, but weirdly charming, and, honestly, better than what I could manage. Dogs, cats, even more exotic creatures¡ªall captured with enough detail to feel alive on the page.


    Then there were the other drawings¡ªthe ones I¡¯d thought were random doodles at first. In the margins, between notes on feeding schedules and behavioral quirks, Sandy had drawn symbols. Simple geometric shapes¡ªcircles inside triangles, spirals, intersecting lines¡ªbut they reminded me of logos or brand marks. I flipped through, seeing them repeated again and again. Harmless, maybe, but too deliberate to be just idle sketches.


    Something about them tugged at my memory, like I¡¯d seen them before, but I couldn¡¯t place where.


    Sandy had cared for a lot of animals over the years, though most of the notebook was filled with creatures no longer around. A few pages were dog-eared, marking those still here¡ªmy current charges. Most of those entries were toward the back, but oddly enough, a few up front were marked as relevant. Murray was among them, along with some of the turtles, which made sense. Turtles lived forever, and Murray was ancient, pushing¡­ 11 years. Damn, no wonder he had arthritis. He was old as dirt for a dog.


    But what really caught my eye was an entry for Nevermore.


    JT had warned me not to say the raven¡¯s name or quote Poe around him. At the time, I figured it was just a joke¡ªsomething to keep the mood light. But seeing Nevermore¡¯s image in Sandy¡¯s notebook, surrounded by her cryptic script, gave me pause. The entry was older, tucked near the every front, as if it had been important once. Maybe still important now.


    There, in Sandy¡¯s looping handwriting, was something that looked like a name¡ªhis real name, written in the same strange cryptic script found throughout the rest of the notebook.


    I sounded it out in my head, stopping short of saying it aloud.


    Edgar.


    I blinked.


    "You¡¯ve got to be kidding me." I scoffed. The raven¡¯s name was Edgar? Edgar, as in Edgar Allan Poe? That was it? All that ominous warning, all the buildup¡ªand the bird¡¯s name was literally Edgar?


    I snapped the notebook shut, stifling a disdainful laugh. So much for deep and mysterious. I¡¯d nearly fallen for a dumb inside joke.


    ¡°JT with his stupid little smile and his stupid little jokes,¡± I grumbled under my breath as I cleaned myself and washed my hands. This whole situation was getting under my skin. I¡¯d started the day thinking I was just pet-sitting a bunch of eccentric animals, and now here I was, spiraling into theories about haunted houses and cursed pets. Ridiculous. I had bigger things to worry about than an overdramatic raven with a pretentious name. Managing nine dogs (ten, if I included myself) was hard enough.


    And Nevermore was a better name anyway. The real Edgar would approved, I was sure.


    The faucet gurgled as I turned it off, the dread easing just a little. Whatever was going on with these animals, it had to be the result of their quirky owner, Sandy. That said, I wasn¡¯t about to start chanting strange phrases or drawing pentagrams in the margins. No need to tempt fate.


    For now, I¡¯d focus on getting through the evening alive.


    Evening chores¡ªaka dinner¡ªwere scheduled for 6 p.m., but I wanted to be in the barn before then, giving myself plenty of time to prepare for when things got hairy. Yesterday, I¡¯d cut it too close, and I wasn¡¯t about to make that mistake again. So, at 5 p.m., I kicked off the dinner routine.


    Dinner mostly involved the usual suspects: the dogs, birds, and some of the bigger fish. I started with the dogs because, surprise surprise, they were an impatient bunch. The second I stepped out of the bathroom, they trailed behind me, their excitement building as I approached the pantry. They swarmed me at the sound of a crinkling food bag.


    Puddy, the jumper who had knocked me off the fence earlier, launched himself right at me¡ªpaws landing square on my chest, his nose practically in my face. I stepped on his back paw, gently but firmly.


    ¡°Down,¡± I commanded, using both my voice and dog-speak. Puddy sat, trembling in place as if he were a coiled spring, ready to pounce again at any second.


    Even Coy was dancing in place. Normally energetic, sure, but now something had elevated his mood. What was the big deal? This was just an extra meal, and they¡¯d been fed earlier. JT had seen to that both this morning and at noon when we met.


    Still, I knew from experience that hungry dogs were prone to mischief. Better to err on the side of safety.


    ¡°All right, everybody, sit.¡± I shot the command at the rest of the pack. Most of them obeyed, tails wagging madly, though a chorus of eager whines still filled the room.


    Boden, of course, hadn¡¯t even bothered to try. He stood right up against me, his face pressed against my navel, staring up with his wide grin, oblivious to the concept of personal space. I was pinned to the wall.


    ¡°Boden, move,¡± I ordered. But Boden didn¡¯t see a reason to budge. In his mind, the logic was simple: here was food, so here he stood. He didn¡¯t seem to grasp that I couldn¡¯t move through walls or dogs.


    ¡°I can¡¯t feed you if I can¡¯t move, Boden. Come on, move over.¡±


    It took a second for him to catch on, his brow furrowing like the concept of tangibility was such a foreign one. Finally, with a huff¡ªlike this was all some great inconvenience to him¡ªhe shifted aside.


    Freed, I Pied Pipered the dogs into the garage, the crinkling bag my flute. I started in alphabetical order¡ªthe same order on JT¡¯s food chart¡ªbut I skipped Annie just to get Boden fed first. Maggie and Murray would eat in the kitchen, so I¡¯d save them for last.


    I set Annie¡¯s bowl near Boden at first, but the little Boston Terrier barely made it to her food before his massive wagging tail punted her across the garage. She sprang up and barked at the offending tail, then made a valiant attempt to subdue it, latching onto like a cowboy atop a bucking bronco. She was a tough little thing, but no match for that wrecking ball. I moved her bowl to a safer spot, out of the tail¡¯s warpath.


    Next came Coy, followed by Emma, another collie like Coy. Now that I was able to handle the dogs one by one, instead of as a mass of fur and tongues, I started to notice differences between them. Coy had a rougher coat, his ears a little too large for a purebred collie. Definitely a mutt. Maybe that mix of breeds explained his peculiar behavior.


    Then came Puddy, followed by Rosie, another black lab, but stockier. She had a broader chest and a blockier head than Puddy, suggesting to me that she had more than a hint of pit in her.


    Last was Rudy, who, by the time I reached him, was already humping the air. His flapping Fu Manchu looked like strands of Spanish moss swaying in the wind.


    Finally, I turned my attention to Maggie and Murray, the old-timers stationed near the kitchen door, watching the activities in the garage like parents watching kids at recess.


    After serving them their wet food mix, I poked my head back into the garage just in time to catch Boden making a move for Emma¡¯s bowl.


    ¡°Hey! That¡¯s not your food!¡± I shouted, both out loud and in dog-speak.


    Boden blinked up at me, confused. But food must be eaten, said his thoughts.


    ¡°Not by you! Others need to eat too!¡±


    That concept seemed lost on him¡ªthe idea that others might be hungry. I wrestled him off Emma¡¯s bowl, using a submission technique Cadence had shown me, adapted for four-legged stubbornness. The results were... mixed. I got him off the bowl, but Boden was now sprawled on top of me.


    Again.


    Despite Boden devouring the rest of her bowl, Emma signaled she was full¡ªit was an extra meal, after all¡ªand rewarded me with a lick to the face. The others lickers quickly followed suit, even wise old Maggie, their breath ripe with the stench of dog food.


    I struggled to escape, and Rudy ¡®helped¡¯.


    Desperate, I made another plea to Coy, who graciously pushed his nearly empty bowl toward Boden. That little bit of food was enough to lure the big guy off me.


    After shaking off Rudy, I fled into the kitchen, shutting the door behind me. My heart was pounding¡ªmore than it should have been. I headed straight for the sink, splashing cold water on my face. It was for more than just the slobber. The dogs¡¯ excitement had been bleeding over into me, stirring the auto-dog inside, that restless wolf presence. Its energy pulsed through me, syncing my heart with the dogs¡¯¡ªtoo fast and wild.


    I gripped the edges of the sink, forcing myself to focus on the coolness of the water. My pulse thudded in my ears, and my chest tightened with a familiar, creeping panic.


    Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.


    In through my nose, out through my mouth. Just like Dr. Anderson had taught me. Slowly, the racing in my chest eased, the wolf quieting as the cold water ran over my fingers. I didn¡¯t know what had the dogs so excited yet again, but if this kept on, with moonrise drawing so near, it was going to be a problem. All the more reason I should finish up what I was doing and get to the barn.


    I had just about collected myself when Phin and Ferb swooped down, perching on my shoulders like a matching set of shoulder devils.


    ¡°Give us this day our daily pancakes!¡± Phin squawked in his deep, preacher¡¯s voice.


    ¡°And forgive us our apple pies!¡± Ferb added, bobbing his head in a cartoonish drawl.


    I sighed. ¡°Just tell me what you want, guys. Peanuts? Pomegranate?¡±


    Phin clicked his beak, ruffling his feathers. ¡°And lo, a feast!¡±


    Ferb spread his wings dramatically. ¡°A tithe of... popcorn!¡±


    I groaned. ¡°I¡¯ll check the pantry.¡±


    Sandy had a jar of popcorn kernels¡ªthe kind you microwave in a bowl. I measured out a reasonable portion, set it in the microwave, and hit start. Phin and Ferb mimicked the popping sounds, the noise right next to my ears like firecrackers going off indoors. I covered my ears, trying to avoid a permanent ringing for the rest of the night.


    Once the popcorn was ready, I set the bowl on the table. Phin and Ferb dug in, making exaggerated moaning sounds, tweaking my earlier groan into something far more... suggestive.


    ¡°You guys are hopeless.¡±


    I looked for Nevermore, but he wasn¡¯t at his usual perch in the living room. In fact, I had no idea where he was. The rule of thumb was that he¡¯d show up when he got hungry.


    The Guinea Pig Palace was prepare yet another gourmet meal (which I felt inclined to try myself at some point), which just left one final item on the list: Carl.


    ¡°Here we go again,¡± I muttered, preparing his dinner. More veggies this time since he¡¯d only eaten the meat and banana chips earlier. To my surprise, Carl actually ate everything. No fuss, no tantrum. That instantly made me suspicious.


    Once his tray was clean, Carl pointed at a picture on his wall¡ªa drawing of a banana. He gestured toward it like he was trying to negotiate.


    ¡°I can¡¯t buy more chips until I get my keys back,¡± I told him.


    He threw his tray on the floor.


    Luckily, there was no food to spill, so no mess to clean up. Honestly, it had gone better than I expected.


    As I was heading back to the kitchen with Carl¡¯s tray, I heard a low mumbling sound. It was coming from the master bedroom¡ªnow the turtle room.


    ¡°Rap tap tapping on my chamber door,¡± the voice said, deep and raspy.


    I pushed the door open and found Nevermore perched atop the open bathroom door, staring blankly into space, his voice a soft, gravelly murmur.


    I crept closer, catching fragments of his strange monologue. ¡°Once upon a midnight dreary...¡± he croaked, but then his voice shifted, deeper, almost human-like. ¡°...Never finished the damned thing... Shall I dare to eat a peach?¡± His tone wavered, then back to his croaking voice: ¡°...nevermore... nevermore...¡±


    ¡°There you are, Nevermore. Let¡¯s get you something to eat,¡± I said, but the bird didn¡¯t seem to notice me.


    ¡°Darkness there, and nothing more...¡± his voice trailed off before it deepened again, disturbingly human. ¡°...unfinished business, indeed... ungrateful critics...¡±


    ¡°Hey, Nevermore, you want food?¡± I asked, hoping to snap him out of it.


    He continued muttering. ¡°...ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering... ¡®Montresor, you fool¡¯... the bells... the bells! Never again...¡±


    I squinted. Was he quoting Poe or having a mid-life crisis?


    ¡°...forgotten lore... whispers of the night...¡±


    I frowned. It was like he was flipping through radio stations.


    I stepped closer, standing just below him, trying to get his attention. ¡°Hey, Nevermore. Yoo-hoo?¡±


    No response. His eyes stayed unfocused, beak twitching with more muttered fragments. ¡°Nevermore... nevermore... so much work, so little time...¡±


    ¡°Hey! Edgar!¡±


    Suddenly, his head snapped toward me, his eyes blazing white, and his voice shifted again¡ªdeeper, disturbingly clear, and shouted in my face, ¡°For the love of God, Montresor!¡±


    I jumped, dropping Carl¡¯s tray with a loud clatter. The noise jolted me back to reality¡ªand Nevermore too. He shook himself, his eyes back to normal. Without a second glance, he fluttered out of the room.


    I stood there, gripping the edge of the door, trying to steady myself. That had to have been his nictitating membrane¡ªthose weird third eyelids birds have. Dogs and cats too. Perfectly normal.


    When I returned to the living room, Nevermore was perched in his usual spot, pecking at his food like nothing had happened. Meanwhile, I was still trying to convince myself I wasn¡¯t losing it. So the raven could quote Poe¡ªbig deal. People trained animals to do weird things all the time. TikTok was full of them. Phin and Ferb picked up lines from cartoons and church sermons, so why not Nevermore?


    But those eyes... No. That had to be another trick. Just the nictitating membrane.


    Right?


    With the indoor animals fed, next up were the cat-sized koi in the garden. As I tossed in their food pellets, the ducks waddled over, quacking irritably at me, clearly demanding more peas. Sorry, pals, I thought. My fingers weren¡¯t up for another assault. I tossed them some feed pellets instead, ignoring their grumpy quacks as they begrudgingly accepted the substitute.


    I skipped the owls¡ªthey¡¯d been fed twice today. Once by me at noon, and earlier this morning by JT. Besides, I wasn¡¯t up for handling more mice.


    Done with the evening chores, I decided it was time to change into something more comfortable.


    Of course, my clothes were locked in my car. And my keys? Still locked in Carl¡¯s enclosure. I hadn¡¯t thought to grab any extras while I was at the store, since I was in a rush with ten dogs crammed in the car and short on cash. Still, if Sandy didn¡¯t mind me using her guest room and her van, she probably wouldn¡¯t mind if I borrowed a pair of pajamas for the night.


    That meant finding her room¡ªwherever that was.


    Instead, I stumbled on the laundry room, tucked between the garage and the kitchen. Inside, I found a hamper full of neatly folded clothes. I paused. If Sandy had left in such a hurry, why would she have done laundry before running out the door? And if she had time, why leave it here instead of putting it away?


    The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like JT had done some chores for her while she was gone. But that would mean JT had folded her clothes... and her underwear. Last I checked, folding someone¡¯s underwear wasn¡¯t exactly part of the pet-sitting gig.


    Then again, V hadn¡¯t said much about JT¡¯s relationship with Sandy. She made him sound like some guy Sandy barely knew. JT, on the other hand, had assumed I already knew everything.


    What else had he assumed?


    I didn¡¯t have time to dwell on it. I grabbed the first thing that looked comfortable: a yellow-and-pink pajama set. I slipped into them and tossed my filthy clothes in the washer. The pajamas were a little long, so I rolled up the sleeves and pant legs. Good enough.


    When I stepped out of the laundry room, the dogs were waiting for me. All of them. Coy stood at the front, his eyes bright, a bundle of leashes clutched in his mouth.


    I blinked. Oh... Oh!


    That¡¯s what had them worked up earlier.


    A chorus of eager thoughts flooded my mind as the realization hit me: walk time. I¡¯d promised them a walk later, and, judging from the snippets of thoughts I caught, it was also part of Sandy¡¯s usual routine¡ªdinner, then a walk.


    ¡°Aw, crap,¡± I muttered, guilt bubbling up. These dogs hadn¡¯t done anything wrong. They¡¯d waited patiently, and I¡¯d let them down. I even raised their expectations without realizing it.


    I checked the time¡ª5:45 p.m. Moonrise was at 7:07. That gave me about an hour before the full moon took over. Maybe less.


    A walk with this pack of excited dogs¡ªa pack practically vibrating with anticipation¡ªwas a disaster waiting to happen. I wasn¡¯t sure I could get them back before my time ran out, even if I tried. And worse, if the dogs were this amped up, the auto-dog inside me would be, too. The last thing I needed was to go full wolf while strapped to a bunch of leashes.


    ¡°Sorry, guys,¡± I said, feeling a wave of collective disappointment wash over me like a tidal wave. Coy¡¯s big, questioning eyes only made it worse. They had every right to be excited, and now I had to let them down.


    ¡°We¡ªI missed our chance.¡±


    They deserved an explanation. Maybe even a bit of the truth, if they could grasp it. And it wasn¡¯t like they could blab my secret to anyone.


    I knelt down, scratching Coy¡¯s ears as I mulled over how to put it. ¡°I¡¯ve got to go to the barn soon. Gonna be there all night. No time for a walk.¡±


    The weight of their confusion pressed in on me¡ªwhy wasn¡¯t I taking them out? What had they done wrong?


    I hesitated, feeling their disappointment settle like a heavy blanket around me. Could I even explain lycanthropy to a bunch of dogs? They deserved to know something, though. I decided to give it a shot. I sent them an image¡ªthe moon rising and me turning into a wolf. Clear and simple.


    Coy cocked his head, clearly not getting it. The others just stared at me like I¡¯d sprouted a second head.


    I tried sharing a memory¡ªone of my transformations, hoping it would bridge the gap. But that only seemed to upset Coy. His confusion shifted into unease, which rippled through the pack. Trying to explain this was like telling a kid their birthday party got canceled because the bank foreclosed on the house. It didn¡¯t matter how much sense it made to me¡ªit wasn¡¯t going to make them feel any better.


    ¡°Alright, fine,¡± I sighed, giving Coy a reassuring pat. ¡°Just... trust me on this, okay? Stay away from the barn.¡±


    I turned to him, my unofficial second-in-command. ¡°You¡¯re in charge. Watch over the house tonight, alright? Maggie, Murray, help him out. Keep an eye on things.¡±


    The older dogs gave me that steady, knowing look¡ªor at least, I imagined they did. They got it, at least. The others? Not so much. They still watched me with those big, hopeful eyes, tails wagging like they were holding out hope for a last-minute walk.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make it up to you. Promise.¡±


    With that, I gathered my things: my bag, phone, a grocery bag of dog food and beer, and a spare dog bed I¡¯d found stashed in a closet. The dogs followed me across the yard, their excitement lingering despite my refusal.


    ¡°Stay back,¡± I reminded them. ¡°No one comes near the barn tonight. Got it?¡±


    Coy gave me one last, questioning glance before heading back to the house, the others trailing behind him, their tails drooping. They¡¯d listen. I hoped.


    I set myself up in the barn, dropping my things onto the cot and spreading out across the small table in the loft. A bag of dog food, a few cans of beer, and the spare dog bed from the house. After a quick check of the double doors and shutters¡ªstill locked¡ªI climbed back into the loft, cracked open a Blue Moon, and sank into the dog bed. A bale of hay made for an adequate backrest.


    The metal roof meant no Wi-Fi and no cell signal. So, no podcasts, no streaming. Just me, my beer, and Sandy¡¯s weird notebook for the next hour. I flipped on the lightbulb and took another crack at Familiar Care.


    I settled in, flipping through the dog-eared pages. I found a section on giving commands. It read like a dog-training manual, but the illustrations weren¡¯t just dogs¡ªthey showed birds, monkeys, even a few reptiles. Strange, but kind of impressive. Dog trainers were everywhere, but someone who could train all these creatures? That took serious skill. Maybe that¡¯s how Sandy made her living¡ªtraining exotic animals. Or re-educating them, in Carl¡¯s case.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    By the time it was ten till seven, and I was about finished with my second beer, already feeling a decent buzz.


    Since I was out of the house and feeling less paranoid, I decided to give pronouncing Sandy¡¯s Latin-ish phrases another shot. Why not? Maybe she¡¯d taught the animals to follow commands in this weird language. If knowing them helped me get Carl under control, it was worth a try.


    Laying on my back, the book held up in front of me, I flipped to the page with basic commands¡ªsit, stay, come¡ªand started sounding them out in my head. They were nonsense, sure, but there was a weird echo to the words, like they carried some insistent undertone. Maybe I was slipping into dog-speak again.


    Or maybe it was just the beer.


    I moved on to other words like listen and speak when a low growl rumbled behind me. I yelped, dropping the book onto my face and sitting up, heart pounding. I turned toward the sound.


    There, perched on the cot, was the black Maine Coon from earlier, its yellow eyes locked on me. It didn¡¯t blink, didn¡¯t move. Just stared.


    My first instinct was to check for bugs or spiders. Nothing. Just the cat.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± I asked, throwing the word for speak into my thoughts, the way I would with dog-speak. Maybe it would work on a cat.


    ¡°Oh, clever,¡± the cat replied, in a deep, human-like voice. ¡°Seems the dog has learned to read.¡±


    I froze, mind blank.


    I blinked again. Half-expecting some impression or feeling, like with the dogs, but this? His jaw moved. His mouth formed words.


    ¡°What the hell¡ªwhen did you learn to talk?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve always been able to talk,¡± the cat said with a dismissive flick of his tail. ¡°You just haven¡¯t been very good at listening.¡±


    I stared. ¡°Bullshit. I can communicate with dogs, sure, but they don¡¯t use actual language. They¡¯re smart, but not that smart.¡±


    The cat stretched lazily, his back arching as he glanced at me, tail curling behind him like an exclamation point. ¡°Don¡¯t I know it.¡±


    ¡°No. You¡¯re talking. Your mouth is moving. Listening¡¯s got nothing to do with it.¡±


    He rolled his eyes, sighing with exaggerated drama. His tail flicked again, this time more sharply. ¡°If that¡¯s what you want to believe, who am I to argue? The lengths you go to deceive yourself are far beyond what I¡¯m willing to deal with.¡±


    With that, he began licking his paw, the motion slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.


    The patronizing tone dug at me. He was even more pompous than I¡¯d thought. ¡°So, what are you?¡±


    He kept licking his paw, clearly in no rush to answer. After a moment, he paused, met my gaze, and said, ¡°I¡¯m a cat, obviously.¡± Then, as if to punctuate his point, he resumed licking, totally unfazed by the absurdity of the situation.


    I wasn¡¯t sure if the irritation boiling up inside me was mine or the auto-dog¡¯s. Probably both.


    ¡°Cats don¡¯t talk,¡± I asserted, folding my arms and glaring.


    ¡°Oh, my mistake,¡± the cat said, voice dripping with mockery. He coughed theatrically, then cleared his throat. ¡°Ahem... meow.¡±


    He didn¡¯t even try to sound like a real cat.


    I could feel my irritation rising like a slow boil. ¡°What is it you want?¡±


    ¡°To lend you a paw.¡± The cat stretched, grunting contentedly, claws glinting in the dim light. ¡°With how you¡¯ve been floundering, I thought you could use the help.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°You call what you¡¯ve been doing ¡®help¡¯? From where I¡¯m sitting, you¡¯ve just been a little asshole.¡±


    His whiskers twitched, completely unbothered by the insult. ¡°Figures. Wolves, dogs¡ªyou¡¯re all the same. Ungrateful.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°Wait. How do you know about that?¡±


    The cat sniffed, his nose lifting slightly. ¡°Oh, please. The stench that clings to you is more than skin-deep. You should be honored I even tolerate your presence.¡±


    ¡°And why are you in my presence?¡± I asked, tossing in the word for speak again with my mind. I was one smart remark away from punting this cat across the barn.


    The cat¡¯s ears flicked back, eyes narrowing. ¡°Would you stop that? You¡¯re like a toddler with a loaded gun. Just because you¡¯ve memorized a few words of Arcanum doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re a practitioner. Leave magic for the adults.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as magic,¡± I shot back, waving a hand as if to dismiss the idea.


    ¡°Said the werewolf to the kettle,¡± the cat replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.


    My heart did a slow, uneasy flip. I¡¯d brushed off a lot of things today¡ªchalked them up to stress or Sandy¡¯s eccentricities¡ªbut the way this cat, whoever he was, was talking¡­


    The truth was staring me in the face: the cat, maybe all of Sandy¡¯s animals, weren¡¯t just unusually intelligent¡ªthey were familiars. Like in the witchy sense.


    Which probably meant that Sandy was likely a witch or something akin to it.


    I mean, once you accepted lycanthropy, the rest wasn¡¯t that much of a stretch.


    Oh, AJ, what have you gotten yourself into?


    ¡°So, these Latin-looking phrases... they¡¯re magic? Words or script?¡±


    ¡°In a sense. More like training wheels really,¡± the cat replied casually, licking his paw with deliberate care, as if the conversation bored him.


    ¡°If they¡¯re so dangerous, why would JT just hand me the book?¡±


    He huffed, his tail flicking with mild annoyance. ¡°This JT likely assumed you were a practitioner. Or that you wouldn¡¯t be able to read the script. Normally, the words are obscured to anyone untrained in Arcanum. Gibberish to most, or something innocuous if properly concealed. That you can grasp some of it? A testament to the author¡¯s incompetence, not any talent on your part.¡±


    ¡°Well, go fuck yourself too,¡± I muttered under my breath.


    He paused his grooming to give me a look, a stern look on his face, stern for a cat that is. ¡°It¡¯s important you understand how far out of your depth you are. Messing with magic won¡¯t do you any good right now. It will only dig the hole you¡¯ve stumbled into even deeper. Besides, you¡¯ve got more pressing concerns.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    He stood up, arching his back in a slow stretch. ¡°Like I¡¯m just going to tell you everything?¡± His voice oozed condescension. ¡°How would you ever learn?¡±


    ¡°I thought you said you were here to help,¡± I shot back, frustration bubbling up.


    ¡°A proper instructor doesn¡¯t hand out answers. He facilitates discovery.¡± His gaze was sharp, almost amused, as if he enjoyed watching me struggle.


    I threw up my hands. ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re my instructor now? Alright, Instructor Cat, how am I supposed to ¡®discover¡¯ the answers I need?¡±


    The cat flicked his tail again, smooth and controlled. ¡°You may address me as Instructor Solomon. And you may begin by locking your door.¡±


    I glared at him. ¡°If this is a prank, you¡¯ll find out what happened to the last cat that gave me sass.¡±


    Begrudgingly, I descended the ladder and checked the double doors. They were locked tight.


    ¡°The other door, you twit,¡± Solomon called from above, his tone as smug as ever. ¡°I¡¯m beginning to think you¡¯re a lost cause.¡±


    I gritted my teeth. ¡°I was getting to that one.¡±


    I crossed the barn to the side door. Sure enough, I hadn¡¯t engaged the deadbolt. But I needed the key to lock it. I sighed inwardly¡ªback up the ladder.


    As I rummaged through my bag, frustration gnawed at me. No keys. In fact, it wasn¡¯t just the barn keys that were missing.


    ¡°You seem to have trouble holding onto things,¡± Solomon observed, his voice calm but laced with that infuriating smugness. ¡°I wonder, where could they have gone? Or who might have¡ª"


    I didn¡¯t wait for him to finish. I leapt down the ladder and bolted out the door, the buzz from the beer vanishing in an instant. The barn key¡ªCarl must have stolen them when he took my car keys earlier. The barn key was on the same ring as the key to Carl¡¯s cage. If he had the cage key, he could have slipped out at any point during the day, rummaged through my stuff, and stolen¡ª


    A gunshot cracked through the air, slicing through my thoughts.


    Carl had a gun. My gun.


    As a product of the South, I was raised in a gun-toting family. My dad, my brother, even my mom¡ªthey all carried, and I¡¯d gotten my concealed permit at 19. When I moved out on my own, my dad gifted me a .38 Special revolver. Nothing says fatherly love like a housewarming present that goes bang bang. And, let¡¯s be real, I was single, lived alone, and wasn¡¯t exactly martial arts material, so the gun had always stayed tucked in my bag. Had being the key word.


    At some point, Carl must have gotten his little monkey hands on it. Safety or no safety, it hadn¡¯t stopped him from firing it.


    The first shot should have scared him into dropping it. I hoped.


    I sprinted across the yard, my heart pounding. The gun was loaded with target practice rounds, but those could still kill.


    I burst through the back door and immediately dropped to the floor. Carl was standing on the coffee table, and swung to face me, gripping my five-shot revolver like a mobster wielding a tommy-gun.


    Another shot rang out, wild and wide, shattering a window ten feet away. Carl¡¯s aim was terrible, but judging by the angle, he might have actually hit the broad side of the barn.


    That was the second shot. Which meant Carl had three left.


    I slid behind the couch, yanking a couple of cushions for cover. Blindly, I chucked the first one over the top at Carl. I couldn¡¯t aim the cushion any better than he could aim the gun, but it did the trick. Carl fired at it, using up another round.


    On hands and knees, I scrambled toward the kitchen, slipping on something wet. The fish tank¡ªCarl¡¯s first bullet had shattered it, and now water was pooling across the floor. Of course. The little bastard had stolen my gun, and the first thing he did was break something. If JT found out, he¡¯d never let me live it down. Assuming I survived this and kept the job.


    Barking and screeching echoed through the house as the other animals reacted to the mayhem.


    I glanced down the hall and saw the dogs poking their heads out of various rooms. Coy¡¯s head popped through the back door. Stay! I commanded, using one of the words I¡¯d learned from Sandy¡¯s book, combining it with my dog-speak. The last thing I needed was a pack of dogs running into the crossfire.


    Carl got the drop on me. I turned just in time to see him perched on the couch, the revolver aimed directly at me. But he didn¡¯t fire right away. No, the little bastard was savoring it.


    Seems he was still sour about the whole banana chip business.


    From somewhere, I heard a bloodcurdling scream¡ªPhin, or maybe Ferb, mimicking me when Solomon dropped Elmo in my lap. Carl flinched, turning just for a second. That was all I needed. I launched the second cushion, smacking him off the couch. The gun went off, the drywall above my head exploding into dust and plaster.


    I scrambled toward the back rooms, staying low, trying to reach some place I could barricade myself. But I didn¡¯t make it.


    Moonrise had begun.


    I collapsed mid-step, my body already starting to change. It was more abrupt than the night before¡ªcloser to the full moon now¡ªbut it still wasn¡¯t fast enough. A minute or two at least.


    Plenty of time for Carl to find me and put the last shot in my ass.


    I had to speed it up. The transformation was happening, auto-dog was clawing its way out, whether I liked it or not. Normally, I fought it¡ªmaybe that was why it always took so long. But if I embraced it, maybe I could push the process along. Just this once.


    I didn¡¯t love the idea of handing the wheel to the auto-dog, but it was that or get shot by a monkey wielding my own gun. And if I ended up in the hospital with a bullet wound, I¡¯d have to file a police report. I¡¯d probably get fined for failing to secure my firearm and lose my concealed carry permit. Worse, I¡¯d end up with a medical bill that would force me to declare bankruptcy. Or... end up dead, should I be so lucky.


    I clenched my fists, trying to force the transformation forward. My skin prickled, muscles tightening as bones began to shift beneath them. I could feel the wolf creeping closer, the auto-dog ready to take over. It was either give in now or get shot¡ªno contest.


    Focusing on the wolf in the back of my mind, I used the command word Come. It called the auto-dog forward, pulling it from the shadows, and I shoved it into the driver¡¯s seat.


    The wolf¡ªthe real wolf¡ªwas startled. It wasn¡¯t used to this: being let out without resistance. I felt its confusion ripple through me, like it wasn¡¯t sure what to do with the sudden freedom. That disorientation¡ªbeing in a body still half-human¡ªturned into a fierce drive to fully transform. Fur rippled across my skin, bones cracking, and within moments, I was on all fours.


    My gamble had worked, but now the wolf didn¡¯t know what to do. It was like tossing a kid behind the wheel of a car without any idea how to drive. It had control, but it hesitated, confused.


    Move, I shouted in my mind, pushing my intention toward it.


    The wolf sprang into action just as Carl¡¯s shot struck the ground where we''d been lying. He had, in fact, been aiming for my ass. The wolf howled in surprise, then rage, as my emotions spilled over into it.


    We turned toward Carl, limbs fully transformed now. He¡¯d squeezed off his last shot, and it was time to negotiate. I directed the wolf¡¯s attention to him and issued an ultimatum through dog-speak.


    Carl, I¡¯m going to rip you limb from limb, you little bastard!


    Carl pulled the trigger again¡ªclick, click, click. Empty. The wolf lunged at him. Panicking, he threw the revolver at us, hitting us square on the nose. I say ¡®us¡¯ because we both felt it¡ªthe pain and the outrage. Between that and the pajamas still tangled around our legs, our jaws snapped shut inches from Carl¡¯s face.


    He screamed, high pitched and piercing, bolting for the furniture, knocking over shelves and vases in his mad scramble. The wolf tore free of the pajamas, charging after him, my anger fueling its every step. Her every step. The huntress had taken over, and Carl was her prey.


    Catch him, but don¡¯t kill him, I instructed. But I could feel the wolf¡¯s reluctance. She was in control now, no more playing the auto-dog, and I was stuck in the passenger seat¡ªAJ, the Auto-Jane. I felt that I could still nudge her actions, as long as she wasn¡¯t too focused on the kill.


    Carl fled away from his room, darting down the hall¡ªhe had no choice since the wolf¡¯s pursuit had cut him off from that side of the house.


    Coy! We barked the command mentally, broadcasting it through the house. Close the back door. Don¡¯t let Carl out of the house.


    We couldn¡¯t see Coy, but the wolf and I knew he¡¯d hear us. Off in the distance, there was a click as a door shut¡ªorder confirmed. At the same time, I nudged the wolf to close Carl¡¯s door too, cutting off his last route of escape.


    Carl was going to learn some manners tonight.


    He scrambled and dodged through the house, the wolf hot on his heels, as he hurled anything within reach¡ªbooks, picture frames, even a lamp¡ªbut his options were limited. The wolf cornered him in the hallway near Elmo¡¯s enclosure, the only exit a trapdoor in the ceiling he had no hope of accessing. He jumped onto Elmo¡¯s tank, clearly thinking he could topple it and create a distraction.


    The wolf rushed him before he had a chance to enact his plan, forcing him to abandon the tank.


    He timed his jump, springing off the top of the enclosure.


    With a burst of speed that surprised even me, the wolf leaped into the air, jaws wide, and caught Carl mid-leap. She had been listening to my thoughts when I anticipated his move. The instinct to shake him to death surged through us, but I wrestled the wheel back from the wolf, forcing my will onto her, quelling the urge.


    He¡¯s still our charge. We protect him, even from himself.


    The wolf snarled but obeyed, clamping down just enough to hold Carl still and make him as uncomfortable as possible. Carl kicked and screamed, even bit, his free hand flailing, but the wolf held firm. Now that he was caught, she seemed uncertain what to do next. It was like a dog finally catching the car it was chasing¡ªwhat now?


    Her indecision loosened her grip on control, and I seized the opportunity to shove her out of the driver¡¯s seat. I was back in charge, at least for the moment.


    Stop squirming, Carl, or I swear I¡¯ll eat you. I mentally shouted, projecting the thought through dog-speak. The wolf¡ªnow demoted back to auto-dog¡ªreinforced the message with a deep, rumbling growl of her own.


    Carl froze as instructed, though the screaming continued. Apparently, dog-speak wasn¡¯t just for dogs.


    Coy reappeared at the hallway¡¯s edge. Search his cage, I instructed him. Find anything he¡¯s taken, especially the keys. Despite the door to Carl¡¯s room being shut, I had no doubt Coy would find a way in. He was a familiar, after all¡ªone with a talent for getting into places he didn¡¯t belong. He¡¯d be fine.


    When I caught up with Coy in Carl¡¯s room, he¡¯d already uncovered most of Carl''s stash: the barn keys, my car keys, a kitchen knife, super glue, twist ties, and fifty dollars in crumpled bills I was pretty sure were mine. They were in a neat, albeit smelly, pile in the corner of the room. I asked Coy to drop them all in the kitchen sink.


    Once Coy left, I turned my attention back to Carl.


    Sit and Listen. I projected the command words with a growl, adding force to make sure he got the message. When I let go, Carl plopped onto the floor, sitting and quivering.


    Now, Carl, I growled, baring my teeth. You¡¯re going back to your cage. Willingly. You¡¯ll behave yourself, or I¡¯ll make good on my promise to tear you apart. Nice AJ won¡¯t be around much longer, so don¡¯t push your luck. Now, off with you!


    Carl shot toward his cage, locking himself inside in a flash.


    And who said I couldn¡¯t be diplomatic.


    With Carl secured, I surveyed the damage. The house was a wreck, but at least the immediate danger was over.


    Carl¡¯s first shot had gone into a fish tank, hitting it about midway up, causing it to half-drain. The fish would survive, though they¡¯d be cramped until I could replace the tank. I¡¯d need to measure it and swing by Petsmart tomorrow.


    His last two bullets had gone into the floor and wall. The wall was an easy fix¡ªI was pretty handy with plaster, and with the right shade of paint, no one would ever know. The floor, though, was a different story. One of the bullets had split the wood, peeling up a six-inch splinter from the polished plank. Whether the bullet was lodged in the wood or ricocheted somewhere else, I had no idea. That would take a deep dive into YouTube for a solution.


    Then there was the second shot: a hole punched clean through one of the smaller window panes. Thankfully, I wouldn¡¯t need to replace the entire window¡ªjust the one pane.


    The third shot had obliterated the couch cushion. It looked like it had been through a war, or maybe Boden had gotten to it and used it as a chew toy.


    Hmm¡­ Boden might make for a good scapegoat.


    So really, the floor and window were my biggest concerns. Maybe JT could help me fix it¡ªafter I broke it a little more to disguise the bullet hole. The last thing I needed was to explain how Carl had gotten his hands on my gun and decided to reenact Dirty Harry.


    With the Fourth of July coming up, I hoped anyone who¡¯d heard the shots would chalk it up to early fireworks.


    Play my cards right, and no one would be any the wiser about what had just transpired.


    Still, one little fact nagged at me: Solomon had known.


    As I mulled that over, I felt several pairs of eyes on me. I turned to see the dogs¡ªall the dogs¡ªwatching me from the hallway. Even Phin, Ferb, and the owls had gathered. Looks like I had some explaining to do.


    The dogs were wary, unsure how to react. Even Coy, who¡¯d followed my commands earlier, hung back, hesitant.


    Right, I was a wolf now. There had to be some kind of dog etiquette I was supposed to follow, but I didn¡¯t have the first clue what that was.


    So, I just addressed them.


    It¡¯s me, guys, I thought, sharing memories of playing fetch, naps in the yard, car rides, being fed. You can approach. I won¡¯t bite.


    Maggie was the first to step forward, cautiously sniffing at me. I realized I was easily two or three times bigger than any of them¡ªexcept for Boden, though at a hefty 130 pounds, I still outweighed him by quite a bit. Small for a human, but big for a dog. Still, one by one, they came over. First Maggie, then Coy, then Murray, until soon they were all sniffing and nosing at me, excitement growing as they realized it was still me, just... furrier.


    Rudy, of course, got a little too curious, sniffing the base of my tail with too much enthusiasm.


    Don¡¯t even think about it, buster, I warned, and he backed off.


    I straightened up, addressing the pack. Coy, Maggie, the rest of you¡ªhelp me check on the other animals. Make sure they¡¯re okay.


    It occurred to me that maybe my dog-speak didn¡¯t just work on dogs. Solomon had hinted that I wasn¡¯t listening properly, and Carl had definitely understood the gist of what I was saying earlier. Perhaps the only reason I thought it worked just on dogs was because I¡¯d never tried it on anything else.


    Maybe I could communicate with other animals too.


    I moved through the house, checking on each animal. A few were startled by the sight of a massive wolf entering their space, but as I suspected, I could relay my thoughts¡ªcalming, reassuring images of me feeding them earlier. Despite the initial panic, they relaxed. I tested out the command words I¡¯d learned. Stay adapted into stay still and stay calm. The word for listen was especially handy, grabbing their attention and getting them to focus. Even the guinea pigs lined up in perfect formation when I commanded them to listen.


    Maybe Vanessa had been right to trust that I could figure things out as I went along.


    As for the fish in the leaking fish tank, I gave them assurances that I¡¯d have them in a new home as soon as possible, but I wasn¡¯t sure if they understood me. Familiars or not, they were fish afterall. I retrieved a towel from the bathroom and dropped in on the hardwood to soak up the water. Wasn¡¯t much else I could do at the moment.


    Once the checkups were done, I retrieved my gun from the hallway and hid it in the desk drawer in the guestroom. It would have to do for now. When I returned to the living room, I found Solomon lounging lazily on the coffee table. Phin and Ferb were back to watching television, and the parliament of owls had returned to their roost, perhaps to hold a late-night consortium. The dogs had mysteriously vanished.


    My anger from earlier began bubbling up again.


    You knew Carl had the keys all day, and you didn¡¯t warn me, I projected mentally. I would have crossed my arms if I could.


    ¡°Whatever do you mean?¡± Solomon purred, his voice dripping with false innocence, his tail swishing lazily across the table.


    I growled, stepping towards the cat. I¡¯ve been thinking. Carl must¡¯ve grabbed the key when he took my car keys¡ªthey were both in my pockets. So he was free to roam the house all day, giving him plenty of chances to steal things. Like my gun. And you didn¡¯t think to mention it?


    ¡°As I said before,¡± Solomon replied, with a condescending flick of his tail, ¡°my job is to facilitate your learning, not do your job for you. Considering the results, I¡¯d say you¡¯re doing a bang-up job.¡±


    I gestured with my head at the wreckage Carl had left behind. And this is what you call a ¡®bang-up job¡¯?


    Solomon¡¯s whiskers twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes as he glanced lazily around the room. ¡°Things are quite banged up, wouldn¡¯t you say? And little Carl... well, I¡¯d wager he¡¯s learned his lesson. He won¡¯t be setting a paw out of line anytime soon. Scared straight, as your kind like to say.¡±


    I bared my teeth. Why do I get the feeling you¡¯re not just here to give me backhanded compliments?


    ¡°Because I¡¯m not,¡± Solomon said, his voice silky and infuriatingly calm. ¡°You¡¯ve still got work to do.¡±


    I let out a low growl¡ªmore of a groan, really¡ªexasperated. Like what? I¡¯m not exactly in the right mind¡ªor body¡ªto fix what Carl broke. That¡¯s a job for tomorrow when I get my thumbs back.


    Solomon¡¯s eyes gleamed, a slow, Cheshire grin creeping across his face. ¡°I¡¯m not talking about repairs. I¡¯m talking about the walk you promised those dogs.¡±


    A creeping suspicion crawled up my spine. I glanced at the clock, and my stomach dropped.


    It was 8:25. Six minutes to sunset.


    Shit! Look, I don¡¯t have time for that right now. I need to get back to the barn¡ª


    ¡°Nonsense,¡± Solomon cut in smoothly. ¡°You¡¯ve got the whole night. No one will bother you at this hour. You could go anywhere, as far as you want. Doesn¡¯t that sound tempting?¡±


    That sounds like a terrible idea, I snapped.


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking to you,¡± Solomon replied, his voice dropping a pitch, an eerie edge creeping into it, making my fur bristle. ¡°I¡¯m talking to the other you. It''ll be their turn soon. I wonder what they have to say.¡±


    The auto-dog stirred at the back of my mind, perking up at Solomon¡¯s suggestion. The prospect of a run tingled through my limbs, setting my heart pounding in my chest.


    No, no, no¡ª Panic surged, and I bolted for the back door. I had to get to the barn¡ªnow¡ªbefore I lost control. But the second I hit the yard, the dogs were already there. All nine of them, standing in a little circular formation with Coy at the center, a bundle of leashes dangling from his mouth.


    If at first you don¡¯t succeed...


    The barn might as well have been a thousand miles away.


    I was trapped. Nine eager dogs stood between me and the barn, broadcasting their excitement. Even in human form, their emotions had riled up the auto-dog, causing my control to slip. But now, with the wolf fully awakened, the moon risen, and the sun setting, I couldn¡¯t risk getting any closer.


    I glanced at the house. The guest room? No, it wouldn¡¯t work. I¡¯d removed the doorknob¡ªit wouldn¡¯t lock. The bathroom? It had a knob, and I had no thumbs. I couldn¡¯t even open the door if I tried.


    The garage? There was food there, but only dry food, and the wolf hated dry food¡ªit gave her hiccups, just like white bread did for me. Besides, Coy knew how to open doors, and he¡¯d been the most insistent about the walk. I wouldn¡¯t last ten minutes before he and the rest broke in.


    I was out of options. The wolf was pulling me from the driver¡¯s seat now, the shift inevitable. Night was coming, and it was her turn to drive.


    I re-entered the house, pushing the door closed behind me and bracing it with my body. The auto-dog... no, the wolf was taking control. I could feel the subtle tug as she moved forward in my mind, testing the boundaries of my thoughts, ready to strike once night fell.


    ¡°You know,¡± Solomon¡¯s voice drifted lazily from the coffee table, ¡°this could¡¯ve been avoided if you¡¯d just taken them to the dog park. Familiars or not, they¡¯re still dogs. They aren¡¯t hard to please.¡±


    What are you, my fairy feline conscience? I shot back, my voice strained as I fought to hold onto myself.


    ¡°As I said, I¡¯m your instructor. Or, perhaps, a supervisor. Yes, that seems more fitting. I¡¯m here to make sure you do your job... well enough.¡±


    I exhaled through gritted teeth. Then help me stay out of trouble. If I end up in someone¡¯s yard again, I¡¯ll get arrested, and I won¡¯t be able to do my job at all.


    ¡°Seems to me,¡± Solomon purred, ¡°you and your other half worked together quite well earlier. I don¡¯t see why you can¡¯t do it again.¡±


    But I can¡¯t control it, I said, almost pleading. It¡¯s a werewolf. I¡¯m a werewolf.


    ¡°Still a dog.¡±


    I growled¡ªmore human than wolf. Fine. If Solomon wasn¡¯t going to help, I¡¯d have to figure it out myself.


    The wolf¡¯s presence was undeniable. I felt myself slipping, so I let go, mentally pulling myself into the passenger seat. Now I was the observer, the Auto-Jane, watching as the wolf fully subsumed control.


    Listen, I commanded, feeling the word vibrate between us. Return here before moonfall. Keep to the forest. Stay out of trouble.


    The wolf paused, understanding. She examined the door behind us, letting out a soft growl, asking a question¡ªhow to open it. I responded, showing her the motion: pressing down the handle to release the latch.


    The wolf moved forward, following the image I¡¯d provided. She pressed down on the handle and stepped outside.


    The dogs were waiting.


    The wolf¡¯s gaze swept over them but quickly shifted beyond, to the treeline, where the dark forest loomed just out of reach. A deep, undeniable joy surged through her¡ªan ancient longing finally within reach. She had a pack and a forest. A home and a family, of sorts.


    And she was their leader.


    The wolf¡¯s thoughts were primal, simple. She considered the fence¡ªan irritating contraption. But then a voice¡ªmy voice¡ªwhispered in her mind, guiding her. She could leave through the house. The wolf¡¯s ears perked at the realization. Usually, the voice tried to hold her back, making her feel tired and sluggish. But not this time. This time, the voice was helpful, offering knowledge in manageable pieces. Not the overwhelming surge that flooded her mind earlier¡ªthoughts of guns, permits, and hospital bills, which branched into memories of bank statements and shooting ranges. It was all so dizzying. But now the resistance had faded, and she could absorb the bits of information the voice provided. The voice was fearful, but not of the wolf, the woods, or the night, but of others¡ªthe ones who lived in the forest of stone and light. Of people. Of what they would do to her if they discovered what she was.


    That was fine with the wolf. She didn¡¯t like people either, or the noise and smell of the beasts they rode. These cars¡ªsuch awful creatures.


    The wolf turned back to her pack. Their eagerness matched her own, tails wagging, bodies trembling with excitement. She met their eyes, confidence radiating from her. There was no doubt.


    She was the leader.


    Let¡¯s go on a walk, she said, using the words she learned from the voice.


    The pack responded instantly, barking, yipping, and jumping excitedly. Even the elders of the group were invigorated by the declaration. They all fell in line behind her.


    She didn¡¯t need to look back. She knew they would follow.

 Chapter 5:

    July 2, 2023


    Moonrise: 8:16 p.m.


    Sunset: 8:31 p.m.


    <hr>


    I woke to the rooster¡¯s crow¡ªsharp, insistent, cutting through the haze of sleep. No snooze button to slap, no muffling it. I groaned, reaching for the pillow to bury my head in, but instead of soft cotton, my hand brushed fur¡ªAnnie, curled up behind my neck, warm and content. I sighed, shifting, trying to ignore the fact that I was sprawled on the floor. Hot, humid breath washed over my face. I cracked one eye open.


    Rosie, the lab-pit mix, was nose-to-nose with me, her head tucked beneath my chin like she was playing little spoon. So, this licker was also a snuggler. I huffed, half-amused, half-exasperated, closing my eyes again.


    The floor was firm beneath me, shag carpeting providing some cushion, and  bed sheets were in a tangled mess around my arms and legs. Sometime in the night, I¡¯d been nudged out of bed by the ever-growing pile of dogs that claimed the bottom bunk. Coy, Emma, and Puddy lay in a sprawl of fur and limbs above me. Maggie and Murray were tucked close beside, while Rudy curled behind the bend in my legs. At least Boden hadn¡¯t added his weight to the pile this time. Small mercies.


    Despite the uncomfortable position and the light creeping in, it was cozy¡ªwarm, surrounded by the steady breathing and snoring of the dogs. The wolf had listened, and brought us back home. Well, not home home¡ªmy old place was probably welcoming its new tenant by now¡ªbut Sandy¡¯s house. Which was better than some patch of woods or a stranger¡¯s yard. The memories of last night were foggy, fragmented like pieces of a half-remembered dream, but at least they were calm. No panic, no danger. One of those rare mornings where disasters didn¡¯t loom.


    I breathed slowly, sinking deeper into the pile of fur and warmth, hoping to drift back to sleep. For once, there were no eviction notices, no landlords pounding on the door, no early shifts to drag me out of bed. Just the familiar smell of dogs, the rise and fall of their chests. A moment of peace, with only the slightest discomfort. I could deal with the house later¡ªwhatever mess awaited could wait until I was more awake. As long as I got it done before¡ª


    A car door slammed outside.


    The sound sliced through the air, snapping me out of the sleepy fog. I bolted upright, the sudden movement jolting the dogs awake. Coy¡¯s head shot up, alert. Maggie was already on her feet. My heart hammered as I scrambled to my knees. Shit. Shit. Shit. JT was here. I had to act fast. I couldn¡¯t let him see the place like this. I needed a plan.


    Problem: I was nude. My clothes were still in the washer, damp and on the other side of the house. If I was fast, perhaps I could try to pull them on¡ª


    No time. Gravel crunched underfoot. The soft jingle of keys. He was almost at the door.


    ¡°Coy, Maggie, the rest of you,¡± I whispered harshly, ¡°meet JT at the door. Don¡¯t let him in.¡±


    The dogs, sensing my urgency, moved as one¡ªdarting out of the room towards the front door, tails wagging, ready to intercept. I stumbled out of the room, stubbing my toe on something small and hard. A garden gnome. What the hell was that doing here I didn¡¯t have time to think about it. I needed to find Sandy¡¯s pajamas.


    I found them crumpled near the spot where Carl had fired his last shot into the floor. I yanked them on in a rush. The bottoms fit fine, but the top was missing half its buttons, torn off by the wolf struggling out of them. I pulled it over my shoulders anyway, clutching the front closed with one hand.


    The door creaked open, and I heard the familiar commotion¡ªbarking, paper bags rustling, and JT¡¯s exasperated voice as the dogs swarmed him.


    I bolted for the door, stumbling over the pajama legs that had come unrolled. I slid to a stop just in time to catch it before it opened fully and stuck my head out, breathless. ¡°JT!¡± I forced a smile that felt like it was cracking at the edges. ¡°What a pleasant surprise... What are you doing here?¡±


    JT stood on the porch, surrounded by a bulwark of dogs. Puddy was nose-to-nose with him, Rosie had wedged herself between his legs, and Emma and Maggie sat firmly on his feet. The rest crowded around him in a tight circle. Almost as if they¡¯d rehearsed it.


    In JT¡¯s hands were two bags¡ªa large one from Costco, the other smaller one from Dunkin¡¯. He leaned against a porch column to keep from toppling over.


    ¡°Calm down, it¡¯s just me,¡± he said, swaying as Puddy bumped into him, trying to keep the bags out of reach. ¡°AJ, mind giving me a hand?¡±


    He glanced up, locking eyes with me¡ªand immediately burst into laughter.


    My panic twisted into irritation. ¡°What?¡±


    JT was still trying to catch his breath, laughter bubbling between words. ¡°You¡ªyou look like hell. Did Carl finally escape or something?¡±


    I narrowed my eyes. ¡°Why would you assume that?¡±


    He smirked, clearly amused. ¡°Because it looks like he got into Murray¡¯s Rogaine again. Went to town on your face.¡±


    I froze, a sinking feeling twisting inside me. I glanced toward the mirror by the door. My reflection confirmed it¡ªFrida Kahlo, back with a vengeance. My eyebrows had gone full werewolf and hadn¡¯t returned. I felt a choked sob rise in my throat. Of all the days for this to happen... and he¡¯d already seen it.


    JT, still amused, shook his head. ¡°Hey, don¡¯t worry¡ªit¡¯ll wear off. At least Carl didn¡¯t smear the stuff in your nose and ears. Trust me, that was a nightmare. Just... wash your face, maybe your pillows¡ªheck, probably everything your face touched, just in case.¡±


    My face flushed as I covered it with one hand¡ªthe one not desperately holding my pajama top together. I hadn¡¯t even been up for a full minute and already looked like a clown¡ªa werewolf clown. But at least JT thought it was just a prank by Carl. But, if I went along with it, though, I¡¯d have to admit Carl had gotten out. Another mess to explain.


    JT¡¯s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. ¡°So... raided Sandy¡¯s wardrobe, huh?¡± His tone was hard to read¡ªhalf amused, half something else. Disapproval? Pity? Either way, I felt like I was sinking deeper. Might as well confirm his suspicions. A little truth to hide a lie.


    ¡°My clothes are locked in my car, thanks to Carl swiping my keys. I had no choice,¡± I muttered, keeping my face hidden behind my hand.


    JT raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening with something that almost looked like concern. ¡°So, you tried to get them back, and that¡¯s when he got loose?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I blurted, too quick, too defensive. ¡°I didn¡¯t fall for that. He just... distracted me long enough to grab a different keyring. The one with his own key.¡±


    ¡°And you had that key on you because...?¡±


    I swallowed, panic creeping in. He just kept asking questions. ¡°I was going to check out the barn. V said I could borrow it for a few days. I forgot the keys were still in my pocket.¡±


    JT paused, tilting his head, brow furrowing. ¡°V mentioned something about that. So... how bad is it? The house, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Nothing I can¡¯t handle,¡± I lied. Or half-lied. I could handle some of it, at least.


    JT¡¯s gaze lingered, and I felt the weight of his scrutiny. ¡°May I see?¡±


    My heart skipped. ¡°Look, you hired me to take care of the house and the animals. I¡¯m on it. Just let me... get things in order. It was a rough night, and I just woke up.¡± Even I could hear how weak that sounded. My throat tightened.


    JT started to untangle himself from the wall of dogs, stepping forward. ¡°Well, that¡¯s actually why I¡¯m here. Figured you might need some help after your first day.¡±


    I moved to block the doorway, pulse racing. ¡°No, I don¡¯t need help. I¡¯ve got this handled.¡±


    JT¡¯s expression softened, but that damn smirk lingered. He held up the Dunkin¡¯ bag like an olive branch. ¡°You also look like you could use some coffee. Good thing I brought some.¡±


    I stood there, mind scrambling for anything to keep him outside. ¡°Look, that¡¯s sweet, but I¡¯m not inviting you in.¡±


    JT raised an eyebrow, grinning now. ¡°I¡¯m not a vampire, AJ.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant¡ª¡±


    ¡°And what I meant is that I don¡¯t need your permission to come inside. I¡¯m technically a co-owner, remember?¡± He gave me a playful look and, with an annoyingly smooth sidestep, nudged the door open wider and slipped past me.


    ¡°Wait!¡± My voice shot up an octave, panic bubbling fast. ¡°The house is still a mess, just¡ªjust give me a little time¡ª¡±


    JT glanced around as he walked toward the living room, shaking his head with a smile that was half-amused, half-dismissive. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sure I¡¯ve seen worse. It can¡¯t be that bad.¡±


    I stood frozen in the doorway, unable to stop him, watching in horror as he entered the living room and his eyes took in the scene: the broken fish tank, the scattered debris, the shredded pillows, the bullet hole in the wall. Now, in the light of the day, it looked far worse than the night before.


    JT exhaled slowly, his expressions blank. ¡°Alright,¡± he said, letting the word hang, ¡°I admit... this is pretty bad.¡±


    <hr>


    JT had made his way into the kitchen, unpacking groceries while I half-heartedly cleaned the living room. Water stains darkened the hardwood where the fish tank had spilled, and Carl had left splintered floorboards from trying to shoot me. I mulled over how I was going to juggle house repairs, animal care, and not completely lose my mind, when JT reappeared, holding out two cups of coffee.


    ¡°This one¡¯s sweetened, the other¡¯s not. Both have cream. Take your pick.¡±


    I grabbed the sweet one, muttering a half-hearted thanks.


    ¡°So... What happened? Those look like bullet holes,¡± JT said casually, like we were talking weekend plans, not near-death experiences.


    ¡°Carl snuck out and stole my gun before I realized he¡¯d taken more than my car keys.¡±


    JT blinked. ¡°Why do you even have a gun?¡±


    ¡°Because I live alone in a sketchy neighborhood. Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡± My tone came out more defensive than I meant.


    His expression softened. ¡°Were you hurt?¡±


    I shock my head. ¡°No. He had five shots, missed every time.¡±


    This information seemed to edge JT out his usual calm. ¡°Wait¡ªhe was aiming at you?¡±


    ¡°The first shot was at the fish tank,¡± I said, forcing a shrug, ¡°but yeah, the rest were at me.¡±


    ¡°Jesus.¡± JT rubbed his forehead, his voice more tense now. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry.¡±


    I frowned, this caught me a little off guard. ¡°Why are you apologizing?¡±


    He sighed. ¡°Look, Carl can be an asshole, sure, but he¡¯s not homicidal. Not usually. I¡¯m sorry you had to go through that. Anyone else hurt?¡±


    ¡°No, just... inconvenienced.¡± I tried to sound casual. ¡°I checked on everyone afterward.¡±


    JT nodded, then his expression shifted, almost impressed. ¡°How¡¯d you get him back in his cage?¡±


    ¡°Carl didn¡¯t count his shots. Once he was out, I had Coy and the dogs handle it.¡± This was true for the most part. No need to tell JT which dog it was who actually caught Carl. ¡°Once we had Carl, I had Coy remove any stolen items from the cage, and then I locked Carl up again. The items are in the sink¡ªstill need washing.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I saw them.¡± JT smiled and seemed genuinely impressed. ¡°You handled it well. Most people would¡¯ve quit after this.¡±


    I blinked, surprised. ¡°You¡¯re not mad?¡±


    JT shook his head, his voice steady. ¡°Look, it is not a question of if things will go wrong, but when, and I can¡¯t watch over everything along with the clinic. So, I need someone I trust here. And despite how it looks...¡± He gestured to the mess. ¡°It¡¯s really not as bad as it could have been. At least Carl or Cassie didn¡¯t start a fire. I¡¯ve had nightmares about this place burning down.¡±


    My eyes widened. ¡°Cassie starts fires?¡±


    JT shrugged like it was nothing. ¡°Only if she gets too cold.¡±


    Damn, I really needed to finish Sandy¡¯s book. JT clearly knew more about these animals¡ªand their magic¡ªthan he let on. Meanwhile, I knew pitifully little. I couldn¡¯t let him know that if I wanted to preserve the little respect I¡¯d managed to salvage with him. Yet it gnawed at me. I needed to know what he knew about me. What Vanessa had told him.


    ¡°JT, can I ask you something?¡± My voice wavered before I could stop it. ¡°What did V tell you about me? Did she say I was... a witch?¡±


    I braced for surprise, confusion¡ªsomething¡ªbut JT just shrugged, like it was the most normal question in the world. ¡°No, she didn¡¯t say that. I just assumed. You¡¯re part of the sorority, after all.¡±


    My brain screeched to a halt. ¡°Wait¡ªwhat do you mean the sorority?¡±


    ¡°Everyone I¡¯ve met from Sandy and your sorority has been some kind of practitioner another. Figured you were one too.¡±


    I stared at him, floored. My mind buzzed with a thousand questions¡ªHow did I not know this? Why hadn¡¯t anyone told me? Now wasn¡¯t the time to unpack that. I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady.


    ¡°So... what did V actually say about me?¡± I asked, a little more urgently.


    JT tilted his head, considering. ¡°She said you were a good friend of Sandy¡¯s and that you could handle the job. I asked if you had experience with familiars, and she said no, but mentioned you had the right talents.¡±


    ¡°So she didn¡¯t tell you much.¡± My heart sank. Typical Vanessa, letting people fill in the gaps themselves. She could¡¯ve at least had the decency to lied.


    JT smirked. ¡°The day V gives me a straight answer is the day hell freezes over.¡±


    I sighed. She¡¯d left me hanging too, forcing me to connect the dots I didn¡¯t have. But I wasn¡¯t quitting. Not now. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not giving up unless you fire me. And unless that happens, don¡¯t micromanage. I charge double for that.¡± Thought, that begged the question: what was I charging to begin with?


    JT laughed, which eased my tension. ¡°Fair enough. Most of the sisters have already quit anyway. Angelina and Samantha? Chased off by Carl. Jessica couldn¡¯t handle the live feedings. And Tori? She bailed after seeing Elmo.¡± He gave me a knowing look, his grin widening. ¡°I¡¯m scraping the bottom of the barrel here.¡±


    A splash of irritation shot through me. ¡°Thanks for the vote of confidence.¡±


    JT raised his hands in mock defense, but then stiffened as a small black device on his waistband beeped.


    ¡°You still use a pager?¡± I asked, incredulous. ¡°I thought only doctors had those.¡±


    ¡°Vets are doctors. We just don¡¯t specialize in one species,¡± JT said, checking the message. He frowned and clipped it back on his waistband.


    ¡°Well, since I¡¯m here, at least let me help with the morning chores. You could use the time to clean up, get dressed¡ªsomething tells me today won¡¯t be easier than yesterday.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°You¡¯ve got places to be. Let me handle this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got time, and I¡¯m already here,¡± JT pressed, not budging.


    Maybe he thought he was being polite, but it grated on me. ¡°Look, I already have one supervisor too many. I told you, I don¡¯t need¡ª¡±


    JT snorted, barely holding back a laugh.


    ¡°What now?¡± I snapped, irritation flaring.


    ¡°Your, uh... monobrow makes a ¡®W¡¯ when you¡¯re mad.¡±


    I reflexively reached to cover my face with my free hand¡ªthe one not holding the coffee cup. But in doing so, I let go of the pajama top. With no buttons left, it fell open.


    My face burned. I fumbled to close it, mortified. JT smoothly took the coffee cup from my hand to free me up. Chest and face covered, I spun on my heel, heart pounding, and bolted for the hallway.


    ¡°Want me to lay out some clothes for you?¡± JT called after me, teasing.


    ¡°Shut up, shut up, shut up,¡± I muttered, disappearing into the living room.


    The dogs were gathered in the hallway like a polite audience¡ªclose enough to be near if needed, but careful not to intrude. At the front were Maggie, Rosie, and Emma. I pointed at them.


    ¡°Ladies,¡± I said, forcing my voice steady, ¡°escort Mr. JT to his car. He¡¯s got important work to do¡ªsaving puppies, neutering cats, and all that.¡±


    They didn¡¯t need convincing. Maggie, Emma, and Rosie bounded forward, circling JT and herding him toward the door with military precision. JT tried to protest, but Maggie gave him a firm prod with her nose, goosing him forward. He stumbled, nearly tripping over Rosie.


    ¡°Hey, hey, easy!¡± JT laughed, trying to keep his balance. ¡°AJ, do you really¡ªah!¡± Another goosing prod from Maggie. The dogs coordination was almost eerie. Sandy must¡¯ve trained them to do all sorts of things


    The dogs had their orders, and once in motion, there was no stopping them.


    I glanced down to see Annie watching me, head tilted, curiosity in her eyes.


    ¡°Yes, Annie, you¡¯re a lady too,¡± I said, patting her gently. Her tail wagged, and she scampered off to join the others, adding her tiny weight to the effort.


    At the front door, JT twisted on the porch, glancing over his shoulder as the dogs nudged him along. ¡°I left the donut and coffee on the table for you. They¡¯re still warm.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, JT,¡± I called.


    He paused on the steps as the dogs continued to urge him toward his car. ¡°I¡¯ll swing by this afternoon, alright? Help with¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother,¡± I cut in, keeping my tone light but firm. No way I was letting him back before I got myself together. Then, maybe, I¡¯d enjoy his company.


    JT gave me one last look, a mix of concern and confusion flickering across his face before the dogs finally herded him outside. The front door clicked shut behind him, and I exhaled, leaning against the wall.


    Not even up for an hour, and I was already exhausted.


    <hr>


    I headed to the laundry room, intent on grabbing my clothes from the washer. As soon as I opened the lid, a musty smell hit me. Mildew. Great. I¡¯d left them damp overnight. Sighing, I restarted the wash, dumping in extra detergent before moving to the sink to clean off my car key. I¡¯d have to grab the spare clothes from the car.


    But when I popped the trunk, my heart sank. The box with my clothes wasn¡¯t there.


    ¡°Of course,¡± I muttered. I had packed it into the storage unit by mistake.


    With no other option, I eyed yesterday¡¯s clothes in the back seat¡ªmy dress suit and skirt, now sun-dried. I lifted the fabric to my nose. It smelled faintly of sweat but nothing too bad. Definitely better than mildew. Once inside, I grabbed a can of air freshener and gave them a thorough spritz. Febreezed clothes were as good as clean, right?


    Then came the real dilemma¡ªunderwear. My bra, panties, and leggings were still in the washer, and borrowing Sandy¡¯s was out of the question. I grimaced. Commando it was. Not ideal, but I wasn¡¯t planning on going out in public, so I¡¯d manage.


    After a quick shower, I stood in front of the mirror, assessing myself. I was not as bad as I¡¯d feared. The hair from last night¡¯s transformation was sparse¡ªno worse than someone who hadn¡¯t shaved in a week. Definitely nowhere near wolfman¡ªor wolfwoman¡ªterritory. The facial hair wasn¡¯t terrible either, just a faint monobrow and some fuzz on my upper lip. Compared to the day before, it was a relief. But with the full moon tomorrow, it should¡¯ve been worse.


    I frowned, thinking back. The only thing different about last night was that I hadn¡¯t fought the transformation. The wolf had come back tired, content, slipping away without the usual struggle. No fighting. No lingering.


    I stared at my reflection, turning the thought over. The wolf wasn¡¯t just a mindless force¡ªit was aware, almost... cooperative. I¡¯d asked it to return last night, and it had. Maybe the wolf-mind wasn¡¯t simply a side effect of my lycanthropy but something more central to it. Had I misunderstood the dynamic all this time?


    There was one way to find out.


    I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and centering myself in front of the mirror. I reached out mentally, feeling around the edges of my consciousness, searching for that familiar presence, like reaching into the dark for something just out of sight. The wolf was there, slumbering deep in the back of my mind.


    Wakey, wakey, I thought, sending a mental nudge. A flicker of irritation pulsed through me¡ªI¡¯d caught its attention.


    I tried again, pushing a little harder. The wolf resisted, pressing against my awareness like a warning¡ªlet this sleeping dog lie. I prodded a third time, and a sharp flash of pain, like brain freeze, sliced through my skull.


    The damn thing had snapped at me.


    Well then, enough playing around. I narrowed my focus, gathering my resolve, and used the same command word as before: Come.


    The effect was abrupt¡ªand disorienting. The wolf was jolted awake and yanked from the recesses of my mind to the forefront. I stumbled as control slipped from my grasp. The wolf was confused and angry at being pulled into the driver¡¯s seat so suddenly. It didn¡¯t want to be here¡ªnot now, not like this. Frustration that was not my own surged through me as the wolf lashed out, sending sharp flashes of pain, before retreating, slipping back into the shadows just as quickly.


    I let out a shaky breath, my whole body trembling. But I¡¯d seen enough. In those brief moments, fur had sprouted along my arms, and my nails had started to sharpen and elongate. I¡¯d triggered a transformation, if only for a moment.


    Was that the trick?


    Dizziness swept over me, and I had to sit down, gripping the edge of the tub as the room swayed. My limbs felt like lead, drained of energy, my head throbbing. I¡¯d only held the wolf at the surface for a few seconds, but it had completely wiped me out. Perhaps it was because the moon wasn¡¯t up. If so, I wouldn¡¯t be able to push further until nightfall.


    One thing was clear: the wolf wasn¡¯t just a byproduct of my lycanthropy¡ªit was part of it. Whether it was the cause or a resulting manifestation, I couldn¡¯t be sure. Maybe it was a spirit of some sort, possessing me. Or some animalistic shadow self¡ªa Mr. Hyde to my Dr. Jekyll. Whatever it was, this was the biggest insight I¡¯d had into my condition in months.


    And it had taken Carl¡¯s asinine antics¡ªand that smug cat¡ªto figure it out.


    I glanced at the mirror, a slow grin spreading across my face despite the exhaustion. If Sandy¡¯s familiars had taught me this much, what else could Sandy herself teach me? I¡¯d definitely have to talk to her when she got back. Maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªthere was more to learn here than I¡¯d realized.


    I reached for a towel, only to remember I¡¯d used them all last night to mop up the tank water.


    So much for insight. I muttered to myself as I opened the bathroom door. Outside, the dogs were gathered, huddled like a pack waiting for orders.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you have anything better to do?¡± I asked. Wagging tails and expectant stares were my only response. They were all hungry.


    Right. Breakfast.


    They followed me as I dripped through the house, searching for a clean towel.


    Once toweled off, I spent the next half hour shaving my face and legs. Call me optimistic, but if my theory about the wolf was right, I might actually enjoy smooth legs again. Besides, JT was coming by later, and I needed to replace his mental image of me. Preferably one with less hair.


    Whining noses poked under the door, tails thumping in anticipation. When I stepped out, dressed in my fresh-smelling clothes from yesterday, I was greeted by an entourage of hungry dogs and wagging tails.


    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± I said, waving the dogs back. My voice had lightened, a small thread of cheeriness weaving through. This new information about the wolf had left me feeling... hopeful. Perhaps I could understand it¡ªreally understand it¡ªmaybe even control it. That I wasn¡¯t just at its mercy. ¡°Let¡¯s get you fed.¡±


    The dogs trailed after me to the garage, eager tails thumping against the walls. I started dishing out their kibble¡ªMaggie, Coy, Rosie, Emma. All accounted for. When I reached Boden¡¯s bowl, I scooped out his portion and half expected him to barrel into me.


    But Boden wasn¡¯t there.


    I paused, frowning. Boden would never miss food. He should¡¯ve been at the front of the pack, practically knocking the others aside.


    ¡°Boden?¡± I called, glancing around the garage. ¡°Here, boy!¡±


    No answer.


    I looked at Coy, who was watching me, his head tilted. ¡°Where¡¯s Boden?¡± I asked, a note of uncertainty creeping into my voice.


    Coy gave a short, almost casual bark, then turned his gaze toward the garage door¡ªthe one leading outside. He never came back, his thoughts echoed faintly.


    A chill ran up my spine. ¡°What?¡± My voice came out sharper than I intended. ¡°He never came back? Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Coy¡¯s ears twitched, his head tilting the other way, confused. You were there. You knew.


    It took a second to realize what he meant. The wolf. He meant that the wolf knew. I swallowed, trying to shake off the unease creeping in. I closed my eyes, reaching inward, prodding at the wolf¡¯s presence again.


    Nothing.


    I pushed harder, mentally grasping for it¡ªand was met with a sharp flash of pain, like jaws snapping too close for comfort. The wolf didn¡¯t want to be disturbed.


    Frustration welled up. I opened my eyes, glaring at nothing. ¡°We¡¯re going to have a talk later, you and me,¡± I muttered. Then, turning to Coy, I said, ¡°I need your help. We have to find Boden.¡±


    Coy¡¯s ears perked up, but he didn¡¯t move toward the door. Instead, he glanced at the food bowls, then back at me.


    I sighed, exasperated. ¡°Fine, eat first. Then we¡¯ll look for him.¡±


    Satisfied, Coy barked once and settled down to eat. I continued filling the bowls, watching as the dogs tucked into their meals, but my mind was already racing. Boden¡¯s missing. He never came back last night. The realization settled in my chest like a lead weight. Then another, darker thought occurred to me.


    Could there be others?


    Moving quickly, I started checking the enclosures throughout the house. My heart sank further with each empty space. Monty¡¯s terrarium¡ªempty. Phin and Ferb¡¯s cage¡ªsilent. Nevermore¡¯s perch¡ªabandoned. Even Camellia and Elmo were gone.


    Cassie was still in her personalized oven, and the guinea pig in their little mansion¡ªbecause why abandon such luxury.


    I checked on Carl and found him huddled at the back of his cage, wide-eyed and still. For once, he didn¡¯t try to lash out or cause trouble. He just sat there, terrified. I could feel the fear radiating off him.


    Good. He should be afraid.


    But the rest of the birds, owls and Nevermore included¡ªgone.


    I leaned against the wall, a tight knot forming in my stomach. Each missing animal felt like a new thread unraveling from a rope I was barely holding together. I moved through the house with a growing sense of dread, feeding the remaining animals almost mechanically, my mind spinning with thoughts I didn¡¯t want to face.


    When I reached the living room, I sank onto the couch, putting my head in my hands. The house was a wreck¡ªbullet holes in the walls, water stains on the floor¡ªand now half the animals were gone. Well, technically a fraction if you counted all the fish, frogs, and turtles, but half of the ones that mattered. It was all starting to slip. The control I thought I¡¯d regained in the bathroom was fading, replaced by that same gnawing helplessness pressing down on my chest.


    I caught myself grinding my teeth and tried to use one of Dr. Anderson''s breathing techniques¡ªslow, deliberate inhales and exhales¡ªfighting the wave of frustration rising inside me. I couldn¡¯t afford to fall apart. Not now. Not with so much left to do.


    But for a moment, I just sat there, head in my hands, trying to sort through the chaos. How do I fix this? Missing animals, a wrecked house, and a wolf that wouldn¡¯t cooperate. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of my control.


    Then, as I stared at the bullet holes in the wall, something clicked. A nagging thought that had been lurking at the back of my mind sharpened into focus. All these disasters¡ªCarl, the familiars, the constant chaos¡ªthey hadn¡¯t happened by accident. I¡¯d been shoved into this mess, and I knew exactly who had done the shoving.


    V.


    She¡¯d maneuvered me into this job, let me stumble through it clueless, and now everything was falling apart. My frustration boiled over, and before I knew it, I was dialing her number.


    The phone rang three times before she picked up.


    ¡°V! What the fuck!¡± I responded the moment she answered.


    ¡°Good morning to you too, AJ,¡± V replied, her voice cool, almost amused.


    ¡°You call this pet-sitting?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t recall using that term,¡± she said, sounding infuriatingly unfazed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play semantics with me! You knew I had no idea what I was getting into, and you just threw me in here!¡±


    V sighed, maddeningly calm. ¡°And what semantics should I have used?¡±


    ¡°How about a warning?¡± I shot back, the anger rising. ¡°Maybe a heads-up that the animals weren¡¯t exactly normal? Or that Sandy¡¯s a witch?¡±


    ¡°And you would have believed me?¡± V¡¯s voice carried that familiar smirk¡ªI could practically hear it.


    ¡°I might have!¡± I snapped, though even I wasn¡¯t sure that was true.


    V let out a soft, almost pitying laugh. ¡°AJ, you lived with the sisters for two years and never realized what they were.¡±


    ¡°Because no one told me!¡± My frustration bled into the words, sharper than I intended.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t they? Didn¡¯t Samantha and Angelica mention being psychics? What did you think they were talking about?¡±


    ¡°I thought it was just New Age-y nonsense,¡± I muttered, defensiveness creeping in.


    ¡°Then how did they always know when you were lying?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m easy to read.¡±


    V coughed, perhaps stifling a laugh. ¡°Fair enough. I''ll give you that. But what about Diana? She could grow flowers in the middle of winter. Some of them even glowed.¡±


    I hesitated, the memory clicking into place. ¡°I thought she just had a really green thumb.¡± My voice faltered. Now that I thought about it... her skin was kind of green, too.


    ¡°And Tori? Her knack for picking winning lottery tickets?¡± V pressed. ¡°Statistically improbable, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°Not statistically impossible,¡± I countered, weakly.


    V¡¯s tone was calm, matter-of-fact. ¡°Look, AJ, I didn¡¯t hide anything, and neither did they. You either couldn¡¯t see it, or chose not to.¡±


    I clenched my jaw, anger simmering just below the surface. ¡°So you dumped me into this job, knowing full well I wasn¡¯t prepared?¡±


    ¡°You needed a job. Sandy and JT needed someone to look after the familiars. It seemed like a good fit.¡± V¡¯s voice softened. ¡°You¡¯re smart, capable¡ª¡±


    ¡°Capable?¡± I cut her off, my voice sharp with sarcasm. ¡°I got shot at by a monkey, V. A goddamn monkey.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± V didn¡¯t waver.


    ¡°And what?¡±


    ¡°Did you stop the monkey?¡± she asked, almost casually.


    ¡°Well, yeah, but he shot up the house!¡±


    ¡°Anyone hurt? Any fires?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± My frustration faltered slightly. ¡°But that¡¯s not the point.¡±


    ¡°The point is you handled it,¡± she said, like it was no big deal.


    I groaned, rubbing my temples. ¡°You should¡¯ve warned me, V. You knew I wasn¡¯t ready for this.¡±


    ¡°JT gave you Sandy¡¯s notebook, didn¡¯t he? Everything you needed to know is in there. It¡¯s literally on the cover.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ambiguous at best,¡± I muttered, irritation rising again.


    V sighed, amusement barely hidden in her voice. ¡°Well, seems like you¡¯ve figured it out now, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    I huffed. ¡°You think maybe you could¡¯ve been a bit more direct?¡±


    ¡°And how would that have gone? ¡®Oh, by the way, these animals are magic¡¯? You wouldn¡¯t have taken it seriously. You know that. You¡¯d have thought it was a prank and ignored the warning signs. I did you a favor.¡±


    I opened my mouth to argue, but stopped. She wasn¡¯t wrong. I had tried to brush off the animals¡¯ oddities at first. I clenched my fists, annoyed she had a point.


    ¡°You also let JT think I¡¯m a witch?¡± I asked, the irritation flaring again.


    ¡°That¡¯s not on me,¡± V replied smoothly. ¡°He just assumed.¡±


    ¡°Assumed?¡± I demanded. ¡°Why would he assume that?¡±


    ¡°Everyone in our sorority is a witch, AJ. Can you blame him for making the connection?¡±


    I stared at the wall, biting my lip. ¡°Except me. I¡¯m not a witch. I¡¯m just... a normal person.¡± Who just happens to be a werewolf.


    ¡°All witches are normal people too, AJ,¡± V said. ¡°They¡¯re as human as you are. They just¡­ experience the world a little differently.¡±


    My shoulders slumped as the frustration began to peter out. ¡°What about you?¡± I asked quietly, the edge in my voice gone. ¡°Are you a witch?¡±


    V paused. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    I exhaled, rubbing my forehead, harder now. ¡°I think you need to start being a little more straight with me.¡±


    V¡¯s voice remained calm, but softened. ¡°How would you like me to do that?¡±


    ¡°Why am I involved in this?¡± I asked, my voice closer to pleading now. ¡°With Sandy, the sorority¡ªeverything?¡±


    V paused before answering, her tone matter-of-fact again. ¡°With Sandy, it¡¯s simple. You needed a job and a place to stay. She and JT needed someone to take care of the familiars. As for the sorority, we needed a treasurer. You were good with numbers, we were classmates, and you weren¡¯t particularly judgmental. I figured you¡¯d fit in.¡±


    I blinked, feeling deflated. ¡°Is that really it?¡±


    ¡°What were you expecting, AJ? Some grand prophecy? A cosmic scheme? Destiny?¡± V¡¯s voice carried a hint of amused sarcasm. ¡°Sorry to say, but it was just a crime of convenience.¡±


    I let out a frustrated laugh, though there was no humor in it. ¡°And JT? Is he a wizard or something?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s Sandy¡¯s brother,¡± V said simply. ¡°He looks out for her.¡±


    That gave me pause. ¡°...Oh.¡± I went quiet, processing the new bit of information. It actually fit in quite neatly when compared to everything else. ¡°Is there anything else I should know?¡±


    There was a pause on the other end. ¡°What¡¯s really going on, AJ?¡± V asked, her voice softening in a way that caught me off guard. ¡°You didn¡¯t call me just to rant.¡±


    I sighed, the exhaustion creeping back in. She couldn¡¯t have timed the question better¡ªI didn¡¯t have the energy to lie. ¡°Several of the familiars are missing, V. I don¡¯t know how to find them. I don¡¯t have magic, and even if I did, I wouldn¡¯t know how to use it.¡±


    V was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, her tone almost gentle. ¡°AJ, not to be trite, but you¡¯re in a house full of creatures trained to assist magical practitioners. They¡¯re literally here to help you. Why don¡¯t you try asking for their help?¡±


    I frowned, confused. ¡°How? Do I have to make some kind of magic pact with them?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to go that far,¡± V said, amusement slipping back into her voice. ¡°Most of them understand English... well enough¡ªyou could just ask. If you¡¯ve been feeding them right, some should already like you. That¡¯s usually a good place to start.¡±


    ¡°Just ask them? Really?¡±


    ¡°No reason to make things complicated. Familiars are creatures of habit after all. Once you get to know them, they¡¯re easy to predict. Give it a try.¡±


    I closed my eyes, my frustration ebbing into something more like resignation. ¡°Thanks, V,¡± I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.


    ¡°My pleasure, AJ. Take care.¡± And with that, she hung up.


    I stared at the phone for a moment, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me again. So, I¡¯ve got to ask for their help, just like that? I was pretty much going to do that anyway. V might as well have told me not to overthink it... which might have been her intention. It was hard to tell with her.


    I gathered the dogs in the garage, giving them their assignments. Coy and Emma bounded off to retrace the wolf¡¯s trail, while Rosie and Puddy started their search around the house. Murray, Annie, and Rudy would search inside. Hopefully, they¡¯d find some of the missing familiars still close to home.


    What I really needed was aerial support. If my canine team could track down just one of the birds, things would be a hell of a lot easier.


    I finished straightening my skirt, adjusting my blouse. Maggie returned with her service dog vest in her mouth. ¡°Good girl,¡± I said, slipping it over her head. She stood still while I secured the straps, her tail wagging just enough to show she was ready.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I murmured, scratching behind her ears. ¡°Let¡¯s go to church.¡±


    <hr>


    If what V said about familiars was true¡ªthat they were creatures of habit¡ªthen intuition told me where I could find a pair of cockatoos who got a kick out of imitating evangelical preachers. Especially on a Sunday.


    And wouldn¡¯t you know it, there was a Baptist church right at the end of Wolff¡¯s Lair Road.


    The Palmetto Community Church didn¡¯t look much like a church. From the outside, it was a big, gray sheet-metal warehouse with a cross bolted to the front and a few posters slapped on the walls. No steeple, no stained glass. If it weren¡¯t for the cross, you¡¯d think it was a workshop. I sat in the car for a moment, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. It wasn¡¯t St. Andrew¡¯s, that¡¯s for sure.


    Back when I was a kid, my family went to St. Andrew¡¯s Presbyterian in Mount Pleasant every Sunday. I knew the routine by heart¡ªthe rhythm. There was comfort in it. Show up, nod through the sermon, bow your head when you¡¯re supposed to, get your monthly dose of bread and wine. No fuss. You could just... exist.


    Then my dad remarried, and we started going to Katherine¡¯s church. That¡¯s when everything changed. It wasn¡¯t traditional¡ªnothing like St. Andrew¡¯s. Just like Palmetto, it was one of those modern church places. No pews, no hymnals, just folding chairs and people who looked way too happy to be there. And, they expected you to engage. That¡¯s what I hated. There was no hiding, no just going through the motions. You had to show you care. It made every movement feel forced, made me feel like I was pretending to be someone else. Katherine thrived in that environment. Me? I always felt like a fraud.


    I glanced at Maggie, sitting next to me, her big brown eyes watching me.


    ¡°I know,¡± I muttered. ¡°But we¡¯re here, so... let¡¯s do this.¡±


    Her tail wagged slightly, as if giving me a nudge. Maggie might be calm, but only because I was the one walking into something I didn¡¯t want to face.


    Stepping out of the car, I hesitated, taking in the scene. Families in their Sunday best¡ªlots of denim, flannels, casual wear. That kind of modest effort that said, we¡¯re here, but we¡¯re comfortable. I left my Talbot blazer in the car, already feeling overdressed.


    Most of the crowd was older, around my parents¡¯ age or maybe a little younger. Hardly any kids. They all looked like they belonged here. Me? I stuck out. Young, well-dressed, and uncomfortable. At St. Andrew¡¯s, I would¡¯ve blended in. Here? I might as well have had a spotlight on me.


    The scent of asphalt, fresh-cut grass, and cheap perfume hung in the air as we approached the entrance. Maggie stayed close, her service vest drawing a few glances from passersby. Perfect. I could already sense the sympathy in their eyes. People always had ideas when they saw a service dog¡ªeither they felt they should be extra kind, or they wondered if you were being pretentious. Or maybe that was just me. Still, I needed the extra pair of eyes and ears¡ªand nose.


    I made it to the double doors, bracing myself as I stepped inside. The floors were clean, but instead of the usual industrial cleaner stench, there was a light, lemony smell. A small blessing. Walking into new buildings was always a gamble¡ªwould it be an assault of cleaning fumes or cloying air fresheners? The joys of an acute sense of smell.


    From the lobby, I scanned the room ahead. No pews, just rows of stackable office chairs. Instruments on stage, sound equipment along the back wall. If it weren¡¯t for the cross and the baptismal pedestal, I¡¯d have thought they were setting up for a concert.


    As I hovered near the entrance, a woman approached me. Late forties, curly shoulder-length hair, modestly dressed like everyone else. Her face was friendly. Too friendly.


    ¡°Hi there! I¡¯m Patty,¡± she said, extending her hand. ¡°Are you interested in joining our congregation? If so, have you submitted a membership form online?¡±


    My stomach dropped. Paperwork. Of course. I should¡¯ve seen that coming. New church, new protocols. I scrambled to steady my voice. ¡°I, uh... was hoping to fill one out in person. I just moved down the street.¡± I added quickly, ¡°I¡¯m already a member of First Baptist on James Island though.¡± It was technically the truth¡ªthat was Katherine¡¯s church. I was banking on this place being part of the same SC Baptist Convention network.


    Patty¡¯s face softened. ¡°Oh, how wonderful! We¡¯d be happy to have you here.¡±


    Relief washed over me, but my anxiety spiked again. ¡°Would it be alright if I filled out the form during the service?¡± I asked. ¡°And, uh, is it okay to bring Maggie?¡± I gestured toward my ever-patient service dog. ¡°She¡¯s a service dog.¡±


    Patty¡¯s smile somehow brightened even more. ¡°Oh, she¡¯s lovely! What a sweetheart. Of course, you¡¯re both welcome.¡± She crouched slightly, offering her hand for a sniff. But Maggie, ever the professional, lifted her paw for a shake.


    Patty let out a delighted laugh. ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you just the most polite thing?¡±


    I forced a smile. ¡°Yeah, she¡¯s great.¡±


    At least I wasn¡¯t getting turned away. Patty led us inside, and I found a seat at the back, grateful for Maggie¡¯s calming presence between me and the crowd.


    Sitting down, I pulled out the clipboard Patty had handed me and pretended to fill out the form. My mind wasn¡¯t on it¡ªI was scanning for any sign of Phin and Ferb. The scents around me¡ªperfume, laundered clothes, and a faint whiff of coffee from the hallway¡ªclashed, overwhelming my senses. I wanted to walk around, but every movement I made felt watched, scrutinized.


    A few older folks drifted over to introduce themselves. Kind faces, polite smiles, small talk about the neighborhood. Where was I from? Same story I¡¯d told Patty¡ªjust moved here, member of First Baptist. Normal, boring, safe. Maggie was a perfect distraction, soaking up the attention and compliments, making it easier for me to slip under the radar.


    With each passing minute, my nerves wound tighter. What if Phin and Ferb weren¡¯t here? What if I¡¯d been wrong? Worse¡ªwhat if they were here, but I couldn¡¯t find them before the service started?


    Just as I was about to give up and make my exit, a familiar scent hit me. Feathers and... popcorn. Faint, but unmistakable. My heart leapt, then sank. They were here. But where? And what were they up to?


    The congregation was settling into their seats, the service about to begin. Damn it. I¡¯d missed my chance to look around.


    Trying to stay calm, I stood up and made my way to the back, handing Patty my mostly filled-out membership form. She smiled as she took it, but I leaned in slightly.


    ¡°Hey, Patty, quick question,¡± I said, keeping my voice low. ¡°I thought I saw two cockatoos flying around just now. Do they belong to anyone?¡± I tried to sound casual, something that wouldn¡¯t raise alarms.


    But my question had more of an effect than I expected. Patty¡¯s face drained of color. Her smile faltered. ¡°Oh, goodness,¡± she whispered, her voice tight. ¡°They¡¯re back.¡±


    I swallowed, keeping my expression neutral. ¡°Would you like some help finding them? I¡¯d be happy to assist.¡± Please say yes, I thought, silently projecting my intention at her.


    Patty shook her head quickly. ¡°No, no. I¡¯ve got it under control. This... isn¡¯t the first time. You just enjoy the service, alright? I¡¯ll handle it.¡±


    Damn. Guess my dog-speak still didn¡¯t work on humans.


    I nodded, stepping back as Patty hurried off. Great. Now what?


    The service kicked off with a band¡ªif you could call it that. Four balding men, dressed in flannel or Hawaiian shirts, looking like they¡¯d just come from a backyard barbecue. Off to the side, an older woman hunched behind an electric keyboard, her hands barely brushing the keys. A knot of discomfort formed in my chest. This wasn¡¯t the quiet, structured service I was used to¡ªthis was so... improvised.


    The prayer began, lead by one the older man in the Hawaiian shirt, thanking Jesus for blessings and offering safety to members away for the holiday weekend or dealing with ailments like COVID. When they welcomed their ¡°new guest¡±¡ªme¡ªI gave a tight wave, trying to sink into the stackable office chair.


    Then, as the ¡°amen¡± left the speaker¡¯s lips, the guitarist broke into a loud strum, followed by the percussionist. The man in the Hawaiian shirt belted out the opening lines of I Need a Ghost by Brandon Lake. The music hit like a wall¡ªloud, pulsing. Several members stood, arms raised, swaying as if pulling the sound into themselves. Others moved toward the stage, hands outstretched in supplication.


    It was too much. Too loud, too close.


    I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to bolt. The beat pounded inside my chest, reverberating through my bones. My senses, already hypersensitive, were being overwhelmed. My head throbbed, and the glaring spotlight only made it worse. I tried to scan the room for Phin and Ferb, but the concert atmosphere made it impossible to focus.


    Should¡¯ve brought earplugs.


    I shifted in my seat, trying to make myself as small as possible, avoiding the outstretched, swaying hands at the front. The noise was overwhelming. Prayer, to me, was something quiet¡ªdone in silent contemplation, not this loud, performative spectacle. This felt less like prayer and more like a show.


    The band finished I Need a Ghost, and I started to relax, but then someone shouted¡ªone of the band members maybe: ¡°Don¡¯t stop!¡± The next song kicked in¡ªMy Testimony by Elevation Worship. I winced as the sound swelled again. At least this one wasn¡¯t as percussion-heavy. A small mercy. Very small.


    But my nerves were already shot. Every guitar strum rattled through me. I kept my eyes down, pretending to pray, though all I wanted was to leave. Even if Phin and Ferb were here, their scent was too faint to trace. What if I was wrong and they weren¡¯t here? What if they¡¯d already come and gone? I¡¯d be stuck here all morning for nothing. Except for, maybe, salvation.


    Then came I Can Only Imagine. I knew this song too well. It played so often at Muckenfuss, I could hum it in my sleep. Great. This is going to be stuck in my head for weeks, I thought miserably, half-listening as the congregation swayed again, arms raised.


    One man at the front, maybe late thirties or early forties, caught my eye. Dressed in blue flannel and denim jeans, he should¡¯ve blended in, but something about him felt off¡ªhis reverence was too intense, too focused, like he was leading the charge.


    I swallowed, hoping this was the last song. Maggie stirred at my feet, her leash tugging lightly. I glanced down to see her staring upward, ears perked.


    Finally, the music died down, and I let out a breath I didn¡¯t realize I was holding. The congregation had grown while the band played, latecomers slipping into seats as the service shifted. The man in the blue flannel stepped onto the stage, a wide smile on his face.


    Apparently, he was the pastor. First place for most casually dressed.


    He welcomed the congregation and introduced himself to the new faces. ¡°If anyone feels called to share how Jesus has been working in your life,¡± he said, beaming, ¡°come on up!¡±


    I barely registered his words, too distracted by Maggie¡¯s persistent tugging at the leash. She was still fixated on something above us. I stood, following her gaze, and suddenly realized I¡¯d stepped into a small opening in the crowd¡ªleft for people to come forward.


    The pastor¡¯s eyes lit up, and before I could retreat, the entire congregation¡¯s gaze fell on me¡ªwarm, expectant, and suffocating all at once.


    ¡°Well, look at that!¡± the pastor said, his voice full of welcome. ¡°Would you like to share with us today?¡±


    I opened my mouth to decline, but before I could say a word, I heard it¡ªa soft voice, almost lost in the noise, but clear as day in my head: ¡°Come.¡±


    My feet moved before my brain caught up. Panic flared as I realized Phin, or perhaps Ferb, had used one of my command words. I walked calmly toward the stage while my mind screamed in protest.


    ¡°Come,¡± one of the birds repeated, then the other added, ¡°Speak.¡± Their voices, hidden in the background noise, rang with the same magical undertone I used with the animals. The damn birds, using my own magic words against me.


    The words weren¡¯t particularly powerful on their own, they were birds after all, not wizards, but in this setting, with the entire congregation already willing me forward, they cut through my resistance. Like a lukewarm knife through soft spread. Before I knew it, I was on the stage.


    I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of every gaze, every breath pressing down on me. My heart pounded as panic crept up the back of my throat. Of all the times for those birds to appear¡ªthey either planned this or saw their chance and took it. Cunning little bastards.


    The pastor gave me an encouraging nod holding out the mic. ¡°Go on, sister. We¡¯d love to hear from you.¡±


    Maggie, by my side, had her eyes fixed on the ceiling, ears flicking in agitation. I followed her gaze and spotted Phin and Ferb up in the rafters, bobbing with excitement. Probably waiting to hear what I¡¯d say so they could twist and mimic it in my voice later.


    I took a breath, trying to regain control. Fortunately, this wasn¡¯t my first time being stuck in this kind of situation. Thanks to Katherine, I had plenty of practice giving testimonies at her church. I¡¯ve got this, I told myself. If nothing else, I had a couple of stock stories I could pull out of my back pocket, worn from overuse but good enough for new audiences. The benefit of meeting strangers: you could recycle material and no one would know.


    ¡°I¡ªuh...¡± The words felt thick in my throat. I glanced toward the rafters, hoping Phin and Ferb wouldn¡¯t push me any further. ¡°I¡¯m just visiting today.¡±


    I could hear them rustling, their anticipation palpable even from up above. I pictured them up there, bobbing excitedly like they were waiting for the punchline. I groaned inwardly at the thought of them soaking up my personal stories, ready to mimic my deepest feelings in my own voice, maybe even twisting them for laughs later.


    The pastor¡¯s smile didn¡¯t falter. ¡°We¡¯re all just visiting, in one way or another. Go on, share what¡¯s on your heart.¡±


    I shifted on my feet, my mind racing. I knew what to say, but being on stage, with the birds lurking above, the pressure felt different. I couldn¡¯t just walk away now. I had to say something.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get this over with,¡± I muttered to myself, and took the microphone the pastor held out to me.


    I turned to face the crowd, Maggie sitting obediently beside me. The pastor gave me an encouraging nod, his eyes filled with kindness, like he believed I could handle this.


    I wasn¡¯t so sure. Phin and Ferb were up in the rafters, watching, waiting to swoop in with whatever scheme they had planned. They had already manipulated me with their command words, subtly nudging me into this situation, and I was only just starting to grasp how much trouble I was in.


    Clearing my throat, the sound echoed through the speakers, louder than I expected. The congregation leaned forward, eager for me to speak. I¡¯d been here before, stuck in the spotlight, expected to bare my soul in front of strangers. I could fake it. I¡¯d done it plenty of times.


    ¡°My name¡¯s AJ,¡± I began, my voice sounding steadier than I felt. ¡°I, uh... wasn¡¯t really planning on getting up here today.¡±


    No kidding, I thought, glancing toward the ceiling where Phin and Ferb perched. Those birds would be the death of me.


    A few soft chuckles rippled through the room, and that helped¡ªjust a little. I took a breath, trying to gather my thoughts, but I could feel Phin and Ferb tugging at the back of my mind, pulling me off balance, waiting for their moment.


    ¡°It¡¯s... been a rough couple of months,¡± I continued, my voice quieter now, more thoughtful. ¡°I¡¯ve been struggling¡ªtrying to live on my own, keep a job, stay independent...¡±


    The congregation listened, sympathy thick in the air. They didn¡¯t know what I was dealing with, but with Maggie at my side, her service vest a clear signal, they thought they did. They were filling in the blanks with god knew what, and that only made me more uncomfortable.


    Then Phin¡¯s voice slithered into my mind: ¡°Speak.¡±


    I gripped the microphone harder, irritation flaring. They weren¡¯t done playing with me.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had to rely on Maggie a lot,¡± I went on, the words slipping out on autopilot. ¡°She¡¯s been helping me through things I never thought I could handle.¡±


    That part was true. Maggie had been an anchor for me in ways I couldn¡¯t explain here. This was a testimony, not confession.


    ¡°You know,¡± I said, trying to deflect with a familiar story, ¡°my stepmom¡ªKatherine¡ªshe used to make me get up in front of church all the time when I was a kid. Thought it would make me more... social.¡± I forced a laugh. ¡°Didn¡¯t really work. I still hate doing this.¡±


    There were murmurs of understanding, sympathetic nods from the crowd. Too sympathetic. And then, right on cue, Phin pounced.


    ¡°Thank Jesus for His strength!¡± Phin¡¯s voice rang out, perfectly mimicking mine. But it didn¡¯t sound like it came from above. It sounded like it came from my own mouth. Goddamn familiars and their goddamn magic. This was Scooby-Doo levels of ventriloquy.


    The congregation stirred, a few amens rising from the front rows. So this was their game. They weren¡¯t just parroting my voice¡ªthey were twisting it, making me say things I hadn¡¯t. Making me sound... pious. Grateful even.


    Then another realization hit me, cold and sharp: if Phin and Ferb could do this¡ªif they could hijack my command words, manipulate me with just a whisper¡ªI might be stuck here for as long as they pleased. Even if I wanted to leave, even if I wanted to bolt, which I absolutely did, I wasn¡¯t sure I could. They had me right where they wanted me. And the congregation¡¯s eager, willing participation only amplified their power.


    I was not even halfway through my testimony when another horrifying realization hit me¡ªI was standing on an elevated stage, in a dress skirt, without any underwear. A teenage nightmare made manifest. If the lighting was just right, the men in the front row were likely noticing more than just my words.


    Heat rushed to my face, and I covered it with my hands. But this only seemed to fuel the birds further. ¡°I¡ª I can¡¯t even¡ª¡± Phin¡¯s voice echoed out, thick with emotion that wasn¡¯t mine. Ferb followed, mimicking, ¡°Thank God for my trials!¡± in an even more heartfelt tone.


    Shut up! Stop! I shot the thought up at the rafters, desperate.


    Of course, they didn¡¯t stop. Those weren¡¯t command words, just mental pleas. My magic vocabulary was limited to five words¡ªBaby''s First Spells. The congregation, oblivious to my internal battle, saw only a woman covering her face, seemingly overwhelmed by emotion. I probably looked like I was holding back tears¡ªtears of shame. They were eating it up.


    I tried to pull myself together, forcing out more words, but Phin and Ferb echoed everything back, twisting it with sanctimonious fervor.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do without... without God¡¯s grace,¡± Phin parroted in my voice, turning it into a dramatic declaration. I wanted to melt into the floor.


    At this point, it didn¡¯t matter what I said. The cockatoos were doing most, if not all, of the talking. And with my face covered, the congregation had no idea.


    I focused on the cockatoos, mentally pleading. I¡¯ll give you whatever you want. Just let me get off this stage.


    Phin¡¯s reply slithered through my mind, eerie and calm. His flesh and blood.


    What? I almost gasped aloud.


    His flesh and blood, Ferb echoed ominously.


    It hit me¡ªCommunion. They wanted Communion. Of course they did.


    There¡¯s no Communion today! I hissed at them in my thoughts, careful not to say it out loud. That¡¯s at the end of the month! I¡¯d seen it on the calendar in the lobby.


    I felt their disappointment, and a new dread crept in. If they didn¡¯t get what they wanted, they might settle for more entertainment.


    Find Patty, I thought, she¡¯ll give you some wafers or bread. Just go find her.


    Phin and Ferb hesitated, skeptical.


    Look, if she doesn¡¯t have what you want, I¡¯ll take you to the store after. I have $22 in my purse¡ªyou can spend all of it on snacks, just¡ªplease, stop this.


    A pause. Then finally, Promise?


    Yes, I promise! At this point, I¡¯d promise them the moon if it meant they¡¯d shut up and let me go.


    Above, I heard rustling, and then, to my relief, Phin and Ferb descended from the rafters in a flurry of wings, landing with loud squawks on Patty¡¯s shoulders. She had been standing at the back of the room, clearly startled but holding a small pack of something¡ªcrackers, if I had to guess. The birds bobbed and squawked with delight, as if they¡¯d just pulled off the prank of the century.


    Patty, wide-eyed and exasperated, tried to shush them. They quieted down, still bobbing in triumph.


    I let out a shaky breath, the weight of their influence lifting now that their attention was elsewhere. Thank God.


    I cleared my throat, forcing a smile as I delivered the last line of my testimony¡ªa generic, rehearsed conclusion I¡¯d used at Katherine¡¯s church more times than I could count. I wasn¡¯t entirely sure what Phin and Ferb had added, having tuned out their meddling toward the end, but the congregation¡¯s warm applause told me I¡¯d hit the mark.


    Some of the tension eased, but there¡¯d be no quiet exit for me now. Several members beckoned me to the front, eager to sit with me¡ªa gesture of support. They must¡¯ve thought I was some lost sheep, bravely wandering back into the fold. It was suffocating, but I couldn¡¯t exactly decline.


    Maggie, sensing my discomfort, rested her head in my lap. I held her face in my hands, leaning back in the chair, caught between anxious relief and crushing fatigue. Whatever I was feeling¡ªbe it the Holy Spirit or just stress hormones¡ªit sure felt awful.


    The service continued, but so did the congregation¡¯s kind touches and whispered reassurances¡ªpats on the shoulder, murmurs about courage and grace. They probably thought I¡¯d faced some crowd-related phobia, overcome by divine inspiration. They weren¡¯t entirely wrong, I mused bitterly. Just had to swap the part about God with two cockatoos.


    Irony was a bitch.


    When the service finally ended, I bolted for the door, muttering something about needing to get to work¡ªwhich wasn¡¯t a lie. In fact, if you ignored the blatant omissions, I hadn¡¯t told a actually lie while in church. Well, aren¡¯t thou pious.


    At the exit, I found Phin and Ferb still perched on the shoulders of a now frazzled Patty. She was doing her best to keep them entertained, her strained smile telling me it was a losing battle. She was trying get them to fly home and they weren¡¯t budging.


    I sighed, rubbing my temple. ¡°Alright, you two. Stop harassing Patty and let¡¯s go.¡±


    They flew from Patty¡¯s shoulders to mine, immediately bombarding me with food requests.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got twenty-two bucks,¡± I muttered¡ªit was what remained of the fifty I broke at the IHOP. ¡°Budget accordingly.¡±


    Patty watched, bewildered, her gaze flicking between me and the birds. ¡°Are... are they yours?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± I said over my shoulder, heading for the door. ¡°Just looking after them.¡±


    As I stepped outside, I caught a glimpse of Patty staring at the membership form I¡¯d filled out. I¡¯d scribbled Sandy¡¯s information on it¡ªso maybe I had lied in church after all. Her brows furrowed as she murmured, ¡°Wait... you¡¯re Sandy?¡±


    I hesitated, wondering if using Sandy¡¯s name had been a good idea. I just didn¡¯t want to end up on some church mailing list. But by the tone of Patty¡¯s voice, it sounded like she knew Sandy¡ªor at least knew of her. Before she could ask any more questions, I let the door close behind me and hurried to my car. I''d already had enough drama for the day. Enough for the week actually.


    I got into my car and drove off.


    True to my word, I took Phin and Ferb to a nearby gas station¡ªone with a respectable snack selection¡ªand there they made sure I spent every last penny.

 Chapter 6:

    <hr>


    ¡°Judas! Blackguard!¡± Phin screeched, wings flailing as feathers scattered like confetti.


    ¡°A betrayal most foul!¡± Ferb chimed in, his sharp voice reverberating through the car.


    I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, my knuckles whitening. ¡°I got you the snacks, didn¡¯t I? You¡¯ll get them when we¡¯re home. But you¡¯re not eating in the car. You¡¯ll make a mess.¡±


    Naturally, they ignored me, their indignant tirade continuing unabated.


    From the back seat, Maggie¡ªa dog with far more dignity than I had patience¡ªwatched me in the rearview mirror. She¡¯d abandoned the front seat when Phin and Ferb seized it from her, squeezing herself into the back with all the resignation of someone who understood she¡¯d lost the argument before it started. Her amber eyes radiated sympathy, but I could¡¯ve sworn she was smirking, too.


    ¡°Deceiver! False prophet!¡± Phin¡¯s crest flared dramatically.


    ¡°Sworn under oath!¡± Ferb jabbed his beak toward the plastic bag on the floor, trying to claw at it. He wasn¡¯t going to get far; I¡¯d double-bagged it.


    ¡°No,¡± I muttered, my eyes flicking to the rearview. ¡°I kept my promise. I said I¡¯d get you snacks. But I didn¡¯t say you¡¯d eat them now.¡±


    Phin flapped against the dashboard, loose feathers fluttering onto the console, while Ferb clicked his beak like an angry typewriter. My patience frayed, thread by thread.


    They hadn¡¯t been like this after church. They¡¯d been sweet, playful even, singing some ridiculous rhyme about snack time. That all fell apart the second we stepped into the gas station.


    Maggie stayed in the car, windows cracked just enough for her to stay cool, while I dragged Phin and Ferb through the store. They immediately zeroed in on the junk food aisle, pulling items they wanted off shelves and tossing them on the floor.


    ¡°Chips!¡± Phin demanded, flapping toward a bag of neon-orange cheese puffs.


    ¡°No,¡± I said, already stooping to pick up a half-dozen granola bars that had rolled off the shelf.


    ¡°Meaty sticks!¡± Ferb screeched, tossing a box of Slim Jims across the aisle with the enthusiasm of a toddler.


    ¡°Definitely not,¡± I muttered, sighing as I returned the scattered snacks to their rightful places. ¡°You¡¯ve got twenty-two dollars. Let¡¯s keep it reasonable.¡±


    Phin clicked his beak, a rhythmic percussion to my rapidly fraying nerves. I grabbed a bag of trail mix and shook it. ¡°Nuts, raisins. Healthy. What do you think?¡±


    ¡°Pah!¡± Phin turned away as if I¡¯d handed him something foul.


    Ferb¡¯s eyes lit up, and he jabbed a wing at a garnished bag of sour gummies. ¡°Those.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said, shaking a bag of unsalted popcorn instead. ¡°These.¡±


    They squawked in protest, but when I shook the bag again, Ferb tilted his head. ¡°Shake it, baby, shake it,¡± he chirped.


    I stiffened, thinking he was being lewd, but then Ferb started beatboxing, mimicking the sound of the shook bag. Phin joined in, making the sound of maracas with an uncanny accuracy.


    The absurdity deflated me. ¡°Fine. Healthy and shakeable.¡±


    I started selecting snacks for the two birds, shaking the packages to pacify them. What I ended up with was a bag of unsalted Shinny Pop¡¯s popcorn, Dot''s Homestyle pretzels, Mexsnax pumpkin seeds, Omega Trail Mix, and a grape fruit cup. Total: $16.48¡ªor $18.29 with tax. That was manageable, though I was still eyeing the fridge for a drink.


    My eyes drifted to the fridge section and landed on a 24 oz. White Claws for $3.25.


    I did the math. $18.29 plus $3.25 with tax would put me just under $22. I could swing it.


    <i>Bad idea. Bad idea.</i>


    I grabbed a grapefruit-flavored one and headed for the checkout.


    Behind the counter, the cashier¡ªa kid barely out of high school¡ªhad his phone out, recording us with a grin that stretched ear to ear.


    I shot him a withering glare. ¡°Seriously?¡±


    He chuckled and slid the phone into his pocket. ¡°Sorry. My mom loves birds. Thought she¡¯d get a kick out of this.¡±


    I dumped the snacks onto the counter, feeling my patience simmering just below the boiling point. ¡°Just these.¡±


    The cashier raised an eyebrow at the White Claw. ¡°That for the birds too?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I deadpanned. ¡°That¡¯s for me, to deal with the birds.¡±


    ¡°License?¡± he asked.


    My stomach sank. ¡°It¡¯s, uh... at home.¡± I¡¯d left it in Sandy¡¯s barn along with everything else in my purse.


    I sighed and moved the beverage to the side. It was probably for the best that I didn¡¯t tempt myself with day-drinking, especially when considering how poor my tolerance for alcohol had become after contracting lycanthropy.


    The cashier rolled his eyes, tap something on the screen, then scanned the can anyway.


    The register beeped. Total: $21.80.


    <i>Called it.</i>


    ¡°Thanks... Mitchell,¡± I said, spotting his name tag as I handed over the cash.


    He shrugged, dropping two dimes and the receipt into my hand. ¡°You look like you need it.¡± He started bagging the snacks, clearly amused. ¡°You know, my mom used to take care of one of those African Greys. It was a rescue. We had to put him in the closet when guests came over.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°Why?¡±


    Mitchell grinned. ¡°He knew a lot of racial slurs. She tried to fix it by making him watch The Lion King on repeat. But he just started calling people a ¡®lovely bunch of coconuts.¡¯¡±


    I winced. ¡°Better than the alternative, I guess.¡±


    Mitchell double-bagged the snacks at my request, and I headed back to the car, Phin and Ferb perched on my shoulders like gremlins. They bobbed their heads in unison, reciting some off-key nursery rhyme:


    ¡°Popcorn, chips, and broccoli together!


    No, no, never, ever!¡±


    Their voices grated like nails on a chalkboard, but I was too tired to care. I stuffed the bags onto the passenger seat at Maggie¡¯s feet and started the car. Phin and Ferb surrounded Maggie can began yipping and barking at her until she relinquished her seat and climbed into the back. The moment she moved, Phin and Ferb pounced on the bags, scratching at the plastic like starving vultures.


    ¡°Off,¡± I ordered, trying to peel them away while guiding my car onto the road. ¡°You¡¯ll wait until we¡¯re home.¡±


    And that was what got me into my current situation..


    As the house came into view, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder how Patty at the church had kept them so calm for almost an hour. I¡¯d barely lasted ten minutes before I wanted to throttle them. What did she know that I didn¡¯t? Sure, she¡¯d looked wiped when I took them from her, but the birds had been practically singing.


    I really should¡¯ve read more of Sandy¡¯s book.


    I scanned the driveway for JT¡¯s car and found it nowhere in sight. Good. I exhaled in relief and ushered Phin and Ferb inside, Maggie trailing dutifully behind. The birds clung to the snack bags like barnacles, their food obsession too strong for any escape attempts.


    Phin nipped at my finger as I pried him loose. I glared. ¡°Do that again, and I¡¯ll bite back.¡±


    ¡°Mangy mutt,¡± he squawked, and Ferb barked for good measure.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I snapped, but they just shuffled their feathers smugly.


    In the kitchen, I opened the bags, measured out a reasonable serving into a bowl, and sealed the rest in Tupperware. I placed the bowl on the counter.


    Cue the screeching.


    ¡°What now?¡± I sighed, rubbing my temples. ¡°You¡¯re not getting it all at once. It¡¯s not healthy.¡±


    ¡°Shake it, baby! Shake it,¡± they squawked in unison.


    I grabbed the Tupperware and gave it a quick, half-hearted shake, but it was enough. They launched into another beatboxing session, mimicking the sound like a pair of demented maracas.


    Leaving the kitchen, I moved to the laundry room, moving my wet clothes into the dryer. The steady hum filled the background as I sank onto the couch, pulling out my phone to check the time.


    Two hours. That¡¯s all it had been. Two hours to track down Phin and Ferb, deal with church, and survive the grocery store. It felt like a full day, and the exhaustion was already creeping into my bones.


    A text notification glowed on the screen from JT.


    <b>Held up at work. Won¡¯t be back for a while.</b>


    Good. That gave me more time to track down the missing familiars without him catching on. Curiosity tugged at the back of my mind¡ªwhatever had paged him this morning had to be important¡ªbut  I¡¯d ask later.


    I was just about to crack open the White Claw when the soft sound of paws clicking on the hardwood caught my attention. Looking up, I saw Murray, Annie, and Rudy padding into the room. They¡¯d waited patiently while I wrangled the birds in the kitchen and were now ready to claim my attention. Rudy trotted over, his tail wagging and he placed his paws on my knee, staring up at me with bright, expectant eyes.


    I dropped the unopened drink, already bracing to shove him off. ¡°Not this again¡ª¡±


    Then I saw it. Sunset-orange scales shifting to pink, glowing faintly in his mouth.


    ¡°Camellia?¡±


    Rudy beamed, tongue lolling out, and gently deposited Camellia the Chameleon into my hands. Her body shimmered, transitioning from amber to coral, almost echoing his triumphant energy. Relief washed over me as I cradled her carefully.


    ¡°Good boy, Rudy!¡± I ruffled the fur on the back of his head, sending ripples down his flowing mustache.


    His tail wagged harder, and then¡ªbecause of course he would¡ªhe started humping my leg.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± I hissed, shaking him off. ¡°You couldn¡¯t just take the win?¡±


    Camellia clung to my fingers as I got up and carried her toward her enclosure, her earlier glow dimming into something more muted. The coral deepened to a dull vermilion with sharp streaks of violet.


    I paused, puzzled. Was that random, or was she reacting to me? Her colors shifted again, this time into an electric blue, the same shade of grape Gatorade. My brow furrowed. ¡°Are you trying to tell me something?¡±


    Camellia blinked one conical eye fixed on me, the other swiveling it lazily away.


    The colors reminded me of those cheap mood rings you¡¯d find at the mall, their hues supposedly reflecting emotions. But, if this were the case with Camellia, it would be an easy enough theory to test.


    So, I thought of JT¡¯s ass¡ªit came to mind easily. Gradually, Camellia turned a shade of hot pink.


    Hypothesis confirmed.


    Her enclosure caught my attention next, particularly the mirrors scattered among the branches. At first glance, they¡¯d looked like a miniature Stonehenge, arranged artfully around her bonsai tree. But now, they seemed deliberate, like they were positioned to reflect light¡ªor maybe emotions¡ªtoward a single focal point.


    If Camellia worked like a mood ring, the mirrors might act like a satellite dish. A way for Sandy to literally "read the room".


    Or maybe the Stonehenge vibe was just aesthetic. Either way, it wasn¡¯t like I was being paid to figure this out.


    Which begged the question: how much was I getting paid? Had I even confirmed that with V or JT?


    Not that it really mattered. My goal was to stay in Sandy¡¯s good graces long enough to find a more long-term, werewolf-proof place to live. And after meeting Solomon last night, I was sure Sandy could help with my... condition.


    Still, I needed the money. I was literally down to my last two dimes.


    I returned Camellia to her mirrored kingdom, watching her scales fade to a dusky purple as she nestled into the branches.


    It was time to check on the other search parties.


    Out in the backyard, Puddy and Rosie were waiting, their tails wagging in tandem as I approached. They must have heard the car earlier because they were practically vibrating with excitement now, their thoughts spilling over into mine in bright, eager bursts.


    ¡°You found the owls, huh?¡± I crouched to pet them, my hands sinking into their warm, soft fur. ¡°Where?¡±


    Rosie¡¯s thoughts came first, clear and sharp: the image of a massive live oak tree at the edge of the property, its sprawling branches shadowed by a parliament of owls. Their eyes gleamed in the picture she sent me, silent and judging.


    ¡°Good job, you two.¡± My voice slipped into baby talk, earning an enthusiastic tail wag from Rosie. Puddy shoved his nose into my hand, demanding his share of attention.


    Before heading out, I detoured to the barn. After the fiasco at the church, there was no way I was approaching another group of familiars without reading up on them first. Once bitten, twice shy. And forced public speaking? That left scars.


    The book was right where I¡¯d left it, by the cot in the loft. I flipped it open to the section on owls, expecting the usual stereotypes: intelligence, wisdom, maybe a note about their eerie stares. What I found instead made me rub my temples.


    Legal jargon. Pages of it. And not the mystical Arcanum I¡¯d seen before¡ªjust plain old Latin. The kind that had haunted me since my accounting law classes.


    Phasing like, <i>Respondeat superior</i>, and, <i>Mutatio unius partis mutationem facit totius</i>. Behind my eyes, my headache bloomed like a fresh bruise.


    The section stretched on, outlining esoteric laws, protocols, and¡ªmost maddeningly¡ªlitigious debate. Sandy¡¯s notes didn¡¯t just describe the owls as wise. They painted them as compulsive disputers of law and protocol. The kind who¡¯d argue endlessly over a misplaced comma.


    I snapped the book shut with a groan. ¡°Oh goddammit,¡± I muttered, the words half-sigh, half-growl.


    I needed to prepare for court.


    <hr>


    The live oak loomed above as I approached, its sweeping branches forming a cathedral of dappled green light. Perched in a perfect semicircle on the uppermost branches, the owls turned their heads in eerie unison, their eyes gleaming with uncanny intelligence.


    I adjusted my suit jacket¡ªhad to come dressed in my Sunday Best¡ªand set the cage of mice on the ground at my feet. Sandy¡¯s notes had been clear: the owls were much smarter than most familiar, but impossible. Governed by a web of self-invented laws, they valued debate over solutions, treating every request as if it were a matter of constitutional import. Sandy had tried to beat them at their own game and failed. I couldn¡¯t afford to.


    Winston, the great horned owl, regarded me from his central perch. His amber eyes burned with a sharpness that felt almost physical. When his voice came, it wasn¡¯t a sound but a presence, pressing into my mind with clipped precision.


    Audibly, it sounded like a normal hoot.


    <i>Ms. Caretaker¡ª</i>


    ¡°Miss Avery, if you would¡± I corrected quickly, trying not to sound defensive.


    <i>Miss Avery</i>, Winston amended, his mental tone unflinching. <i>Are you attempting to bribe the House?</i>


    I set the cage of mice on the ground with deliberate care, meeting his gaze. ¡°It¡¯s not bribery. It¡¯s lobbying. I¡¯m advocating for legislation.¡±


    The grove rustled with waves of displeasure, the sound of feathers ruffling like dry leaves in the wind.


    <i>Lobbying</i>, Disraeli, the snowy owl, hooted with frosty disdain. He puffed himself up. <i>A thinly veiled attempt to subvert parliamentary integrity. Scandalous</i>.


    ¡°That¡¯s the point,¡± I said, folding my arms tightly to keep from clenching my fists. ¡°I need a resolution passed promptly¡ªhelp me locate the missing familiars.¡±


    The owls shifted, talons scraping against bark in a grating, discordant chorus.


    Winston¡¯s wings folded neatly at his sides. <i>Your request has been noted and will be postponed. To reconsider it now would violate Article Seventeen, Section Four, which mandates proper scheduling for appeals.</i>


    I inhaled deeply, biting back the first response that came to mind. ¡°Emergency clause. This qualifies.¡±


    <i>Point of order!</i> Thurmond¡¯s slow, molasses-like drawl cut through the grove. The barred owl shifted on his perch with deliberate precision, his feathers flaring slightly. <i>Miss Avery has already violated multiple House rules. Improper feeding schedules. Disrupting deliberations. Ignoring procedural etiquette.</i>


    He launched into a painstakingly detailed filibuster, citing passages from Sandy¡¯s notes with excruciating accuracy. Each word jabbed like a paper cut, and I could feel my patience fraying.


    ¡°Thurmond,¡± I interrupted, my voice taut, ¡°if your goal is to bore me into submission, it¡¯s working.¡±


    A ripple of indignant hoots swept through the grove, their collective outrage palpable.


    <i>Miss Avery</i>, Winston¡¯s tone sharpened, cutting through the unrest. <i>The esteemed Thurmond is exercising his right to outline the petitioner¡¯s violations. You would do well to listen.</i>


    I forced a tight smile, my jaw aching from restraint. ¡°Violations? Let¡¯s talk about violations. I¡¯m doing your caretaker¡¯s job while she¡¯s away. Should we go over her infractions too, or are we just roasting me today?¡±


    <i>Caretaker Sandy¡¯s infractions are not under review</i>, Disraeli said smugly, his feathers bristling with self-satisfaction. <i>But yours are numerous. Let us begin with your blatant disregard for feeding schedules.</i>


    ¡°You ate the mice, didn¡¯t you?¡± I shot back, unable to keep my tone completely even. ¡°Food is food.¡±


    <i>You deviated from protocol!</i> Disraeli snapped, his feathers puffing out dramatically.


    ¡°And I¡¯m deviating now,¡± I said, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. ¡°Let me make this clear: I don¡¯t have time for your convoluted rules. You¡¯ve made up half of them anyway.¡±


    The silence that followed was suffocating. Even the leaves above seemed to hold their breath.


    <i>Protocol exists for a reason</i>, Trudeau, the screech owl, said nervously, his small frame trembling slightly. <i>Deviating¡ªum¡ªdisrupts the delicate balance of governance.</i>


    I pinched the bridge of my nose and exhaled slowly, willing myself to stay composed. Losing my temper wouldn¡¯t win this fight. ¡°Enough,¡± I said, injecting as much calm authority into my voice as I could muster. ¡°You want to talk about governance? Fine. Let¡¯s talk about <i>The Law of The Hand That Feeds You</i>.¡±


    The air in the grove shifted, the rustling of feathers falling to an uneasy stillness.


    ¡°Article Six,¡± I continued, pacing slowly, ¡°uh... something, Six. In emergencies, resource allocation can be suspended until cooperation is ensured. So, help me find the missing familiars, or hunt your own mice.¡±


    Trudeau let out a panicked screech, his wings fluttering in alarm. <i>Withholding provisions constitutes a breach of our resource agreement!</i>


    ¡°Not in an emergency,¡± I countered, though the words felt heavy in my mouth. The threat tasted bitter, but I couldn¡¯t see another way forward.


    Winston flared his wings, his mental tone frosty. <i>This borders on extortion.</i>


    ¡°Call it whatever you want,¡± I said, meeting his sharp gaze. ¡°Either you help, or you starve. Your choice.¡±


    The grove seemed to hold its breath again. The owls exchanged glances¡ªor whatever their equivalent of a glance was¡ªa ripple of unease passing through them. For a moment, I thought I¡¯d won.


    But then Disraeli broke the silence with a disdainful huff, his feathers puffing as if to maximum volume. <i>We refuse to cooperate under such barbaric terms.</i>


    The tension in my chest tightened like a coiled spring. They called my bluff, I couldn¡¯t push them further without risking irreparable damage. I needed them on my side. Burning bridges wouldn¡¯t help me now.


    Wilkes, the barn owl, spoke unexpectedly, his voice calm and measured, cutting through the standoff like a gavel striking wood. <i>There is another way.</i>


    Every eye¡ªavian and human¡ªturned toward him.


    ¡°Another way?¡± I asked, my tone wary but intrigued.


    <i>Seek the raven</i>, Wilkes said, his words deliberate.


    The grove erupted in a murmur of hoots and hisses. Disraeli bristled, his feathers puffing even further. <i>He is unwell and unfit. Leave him be.</i>


    Several owls murmured their agreement, their discontent rustling through the grove like dry leaves.


    I raised an eyebrow, forcing a note of humor into my voice. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    <i>You¡¯ve driven him mad</i>, Disraeli snapped, his mental tone sharp as an icicle.


    I threw up my hands. ¡°What did I do this time?¡±


    Winston¡¯s wings shifted, his amber eyes fixed on me with a patronizing calm. <i>You called him by a name you shouldn¡¯t have.</i>


    I blinked. ¡°Wait¡ªyou¡¯re telling me that saying ¡®Nevermore¡¯ is enough to drive him mad? Or was it Edgar? Not my fault he has a dumb name.¡±


    Thurmond let out a low, deliberate chuckle, his voice like molasses. <i>He¡¯s a raven</i>, he drawled. <i>Takes things to heart</i>.


    Wilkes clicked his beak sharply, cutting through the noise. <i>Mad or not, he will help her. Caretaker Sandy would want this resolved quickly, and the raven has the intellect to aid her search. It is a reasonable compromise.</i>


    Winston ruffled his feathers, the motion slow and deliberate. <i>Reasonable?</i> he said, his voice laced with sharp disapproval. <i>Ellenore made it clear the raven was not to be used for such tasks. It violates the agreement.</i>


    ¡°Who¡¯s Ellenore?¡± I asked, but my question fell to the wayside as the owl continued to argue.


    <i>Ellenore¡¯s arrangement is irrelevant</i>, Wilkes replied smoothly, his tone calm but insistent. <i>The raven listened to her no more than he does her niece or nephew. Yet Miss Avery has achieved what they could not¡ªhe heard her. That alone merits consideration.</i>


    <i>Oh great</i>, I thought, in my ignorance, I¡¯d done something stupid again..


    The owls exchanged pointed glances, hoots, and subtle head tilts, their debate slipping into a rhythm of unspoken nuances I couldn¡¯t decipher. Despite combing through Sandy¡¯s notes earlier, the entries on the raven were maddeningly vague and brief. And while I could see through Sandy¡¯s obfuscation, it was still full of cryptic references and frustrating half-thoughts.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I cut in, pitching my voice higher to break their murmured deliberations. ¡°Could someone explain this in a way that doesn¡¯t sound like a riddle?¡±


    A heavy pause followed as the owls blinked at me in eerie unison.


    <i>You gave him a name</i>, Thurmond intoned, his voice slow and deliberate. <i>And he accepted it.</i>


    I blinked. ¡°Yes, you mentioned that. What does it mean?¡±


    <i>It means he recognizes you</i>, Wilkes said gently. <i>The raven has not listened to Caretaker Sandy or her brother in years. But he listened to you.</i>


    ¡°That¡¯s still not an explanation,¡± I replied, biting back irritation.


    <i>It¡¯s the truth</i>, Wilkes countered, his words maddeningly neutral. <i>And the truth is often more useful than answers.</i>


    I exhaled sharply, dragging my hand through my hair. ¡°So what¡¯s his deal, then? Why is this raven¡ªsorry, Nevermore¡ªsuch a big deal?¡±


    Wilkes tilted his head slightly, his gaze almost... sympathetic. <i>Ellenore took many of her secrets to the grave. What she entrusted to Caretaker Sandy, she has yet to uncover fully herself. But the raven¡­ was the closest thing she had to a confidant.</i>


    The other owls ruffled their feathers, their collective discomfort palpable.


    ¡°Confidant? You mean he was this Ellenore¡¯s familiar?¡± I said, not expecting an answer, nor getting one. Great. Cryptic riddles and a moody bird. Lots of moody birds, really. This was exactly what I didn¡¯t need.


    Winston lifted a wing, cutting through the growing tension. He pointed to the farthest corner of the property. <i>You¡¯ll find him in the Rear Garden,</i> he said curtly.


    <i>If he seems distracted, use his other name</i>, Wilkes added quickly, drawing sharp hisses from the other owls. <i>The one Ellenore gave him. He despises that name, but it will get his attention. After that, call upon him thrice with the name you gave him, and he¡¯ll listen to you.</i>


    I sighed. It wasn''t quite the answer I was looking for, but at least this was something I could work with. ¡°Fine,¡± I said, straightening my suit jacket. ¡°I¡¯ll find the raven. But don¡¯t think this conversation is over.¡±


    The owls said nothing, their collective gaze as inscrutable as ever.


    Still, I wasn¡¯t about to leave things entirely sour. Wilkes had been willing to meet me halfway, and I had a rapport to maintain¡ªor salvage. I donned the raptor glove and lifted the cage of mice, holding it up for the semicircle to see.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said with a faint smile, ¡°if there are no objections, shall we adjourn this meeting for lunch?¡±


    <hr>


    The air cooled noticeably as I followed the to the rear garden, a gentle contrast to the sticky warmth of the day. The garden lay in the back corner of the property, its entrance a small trail that began just behind the barn. Mist still clung stubbornly to the ground despite the noon sun, curling between the creeping rosemary and blackberry brambles that overran the area.


    I paused to pluck a handful of blackberries from the bushes. I popped one into my mouth, savoring their tart sweetness. Being able to pick blackberries was perhaps one of the only redeeming qualities of summers in the south, and my brother and I had spent countless hours as child searching for bramble patches like these. Our reward, stained fingers full of splinters, and a treasured handful of berries.


    As I reached for another cluster, I froze.


    Gravestones.


    They emerged from the undergrowth like forgotten relics, their weatherworn faces tilted askew and blotched with moss. Names¡ªSnickers, Maxie, Princess¡ªpeeked through the vines, some accompanied by dates, others left to time¡¯s discretion. My stomach twisted as realization dawned. I¡¯d been snacking in a pet cemetery.


    After some deliberation, I decided to swallow the berries I¡¯d already eaten, but felt no desire to eat any more. Instead, I stuck the rest in my pocket, figuring I could use them on Nevermore.


    As I stepped further in, the markers grew more numerous, the atmosphere heavier. My flats crunched softly against the gravel path as I navigated through the brambles, the cool air no longer feeling so pleasant. At the heart of the clearing, an ancient oak loomed. Its gnarled branches stretched wide, and at its base stood a solitary headstone larger than the rest.


    <b>Ellenore Williams.</b>


    The name sent a little chill through me. Sandy¡¯s aunt. Of course. I should¡¯ve pieced that together sooner. If not for the owls'' insistent meddling, I¡¯d have turned around and pretended I¡¯d never seen it. The last thing I wanted was to get more entangled in Sandy¡¯s family affairs. Dealing with her pets was already harrowing enough.


    My gaze lifted to the tree above the headstone. Perched on a branch high in the oak was the raven.


    Nevermore¡ªor Edgar, or whoever he fancied himself today¡ªwas perched like a brooding shadow, his black feathers gleaming in the dappled light.. He muttered to himself, an erratic mix of half-formed words and garbled mimicry. His head twitched in sharp, spasmodic movements as if caught between two radio channels.


    ¡°Nevermore,¡± I called out, my voice cutting through the eerie stillness.


    Nothing. He kept muttering, his attention still fractured.


    ¡°Edgar?¡±


    The raven froze mid-mutter. The chill in the air deepened, the mist thickening as if stirred by an unseen breath. Slowly, Nevermore turned, his black eyes glinting with a startling intelligence that made my stomach twist.


    ¡°Speak not the name, speak not the name,¡± muttered the raven, his voice more human-like now.


    I hesitated, my breath catching as the atmosphere thickened. Calling upon Ellenore¡¯s familiar felt more dangerous than I¡¯d anticipated, but I pressed on.


    ¡°Nevermore, listen to me.¡±


    The raven clawed angrily and beat his wings. The mist thickened, and the breeze became a gust. Leaves swirled around me, carrying faint whispers I couldn¡¯t quite catch.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Wait! Nevermore, I need your help.¡±


    The whispers grew louder, their incoherent words crawling under my skin. Wind whipped hair into my face and the cold bit at my cheeks.


    ¡°Damn it, Nevermore!¡± I snapped, clutching my jacket tighter. ¡°Stop being so goddamn dramatic!¡±


    And then, everything stopped.


    The wind died. The whispers silenced. The chill lifted, leaving the air unnervingly still.


    ¡°So is that like, your quirk something? Making everything go all edgy and creep¡ªwhat the!¡±


    The raven swooped down upon me and began ruthlessly pecking me, jabbing his sharp beak into my head and the hands I threw up to protect myself.


    ¡°Blasted woman!¡± he bellowed, his wings smacking me in the face. ¡°Will you not let the dead rest?¡±


    I stumbled back, caught off guard by the sudden assault. ¡°What the hell are you talking about. You seem pretty alive to me!¡±


    ¡°Do I?¡± He circled around before landing on a lower branch, his feathers bristling. ¡°Do you have any idea what you¡¯ve done?¡±


    I folded my arms and blew hair out of my face, unwilling to be cowed by a bird, even one this theatrical. ¡°Yeah, I finally got your attention.¡±


    His screech split the air, sharp enough to make me wince. ¡°You will dismiss me this instant!¡±


    ¡°Dismiss you?¡± I scoffed. ¡°You live here!¡±


    He launched toward me, his speed unnervingly precise. ¡°I don¡¯t mean the bird, you imbecile! I¡¯m talking about myself¡ªthe spirit you summoned into this wretched bird!¡±


    I ducked as he swooped low, claws brushing my shoulder. ¡°Summoned? I don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re talking about!¡±


    Nevermore wheeled sharply, his wings beating furiously. ¡°You summoned me with a name! And bound me thrice!¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on,¡± I snapped, batting at him as he dive-bombed again. ¡°That¡¯s just bad movie logic!¡±


    He landed heavily on my shoulder, his claws digging into my shirt as he delivered a series of sharp pecks to my head. ¡°Do not mock the forces you so clearly do not understand!¡±


    ¡°Will you quit it?¡± I yelled, swiping at him ineffectively. ¡°I didn¡¯t even mean to¡ªow! Okay, that¡¯s it!¡±


    Reaching up, I grabbed him mid-peck, holding him at arm¡¯s length. He squawked furiously, his wings a flurry of black as they flapped against my grip.


    ¡°You will release me!¡± he commanded, his voice low and imperious. The dramatic tone might have carried weight if he weren¡¯t a two-pound bird.


    ¡°Not until you stop acting like a psychotic parrot!¡± I shot back, giving him a small shake for emphasis.


    His flapping slowed, and he fixed me with a long, piercing stare. The indignation in his eyes softened¡ªjust slightly¡ªinto something wearier. Then he let out a sigh, long and drawn-out, his wings going slack.


    ¡°Very well,¡± he muttered, his tone laced with begrudging resignation. ¡°Compose yourself, madam. There is much to discuss.¡±


    I hesitated, then carefully set him down on a low branch. He ruffled his feathers indignantly, but the hostility had ebbed, replaced by an air of tired superiority.


    ¡°Look,¡± I began, brushing stray twigs from my jacket. ¡°Nevermore¡ªor Edgar, or whatever¡ªyou¡¯re talking to the wrong person if you think I¡¯m some kind of witch. I¡¯m just helping Sandy take care of her familiars. ¡±


    The raven¡¯s head tilted, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. ¡°Little Sandra has a human friend? How quaint.¡± His beak clicked with disdain. ¡°Where is she? And Ellenore? I have complaints about her hired help.¡±


    ¡°Sandy¡¯s out of town,¡± I said evenly. ¡°Some kind of emergency.¡± I hesitated before adding, ¡°And Ellenore... she¡¯s dead. Sandy inherited the house.¡± I gestured toward the gravestone.


    Nevermore froze, his wings lowering slightly as his gaze flicked to the headstone. The haughty edge in his voice faltered. ¡°Ellenore is... deceased?¡± His feathers settled as if weighed down by the realization. ¡°How? How long?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the details,¡± I replied carefully, wary of the sudden shift in his demeanor. ¡°It¡¯s July 2023, if that helps.¡±


    He stilled completely, the sharp glint in his eyes dimming. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost hollow. ¡°Fifteen years. It¡¯s been fifteen years.¡±


    ¡°Since you were last summoned?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The weight in his tone surprised me. For all his pomp and vinegar, there was something deeply human in his sorrow.


    ¡°You and Ellenore were close, huh?¡± I asked cautiously.


    A bitter, laugh clicked in his throat. ¡°Close? Hardly. Not for someone who so unceremoniously pulled me from the grave. No, this bird¡ªher familiar¡ªwas my prison. She shackled me to this wretched creature so I could <i>help</i>.¡±


    ¡°Help with what?¡±


    ¡°Her dreadful poetry. Her endless need to talk.¡± His voice grew softer, tinged with something I couldn¡¯t quite place. ¡°And to watch over her precious little Jacky.¡±


    ¡°Jacky?¡± I blinked, the name catching me off guard. ¡°You mean JT?¡±


    He tilted his head, his feathers ruffling faintly. ¡°Oh, he goes by that now? How is he?¡±


    A small smile tugged at my lips. ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s doing well. Almost a licensed vet now. Quite the looker, but, uh... don¡¯t tell him I said that.¡±


    Nevermore chuckled, the sound rasping and dry. ¡°Splendid. He actually went through with it.¡±


    ¡°He wanted to be a vet that long?¡± I asked, caught off guard by the note of fondness in his tone.


    ¡°Sure, sure,¡± he murmured, voice drifting into something wistful. ¡°I daresay I¡¯d like to see the man he¡¯s become.¡±


    I studied him, my curiosity deepening. For all his theatrics, there was a weight behind his words that I couldn¡¯t ignore. ¡°You¡¯re not just some random spirit, are you?¡±


    ¡°Random?¡± He puffed up, feathers bristling with affront. ¡°Madam, I am anything but. Do you not realize the significance of a name invoked thrice? Ellenore bound me with one for a reason.¡±


    A flicker of unease passed through me. ¡°She summoned you with ¡®Edgar,¡¯ didn¡¯t she? She meant to call Poe.¡±


    He let out a sharp, derisive caw. A mirthful laugh. ¡°Of course she did. But summoning spirits isn¡¯t as simple as reciting a name. Instead of the great Edgar Allan Poe, she got me. Ha!¡±


    I frowned. ¡°And who are you, exactly?¡±


    His feathers settled slightly, and he tilted his head, fixing me with one dark, gleaming eye. ¡°Even if I did remember who I was, I wouldn''t tell a soul. Lest I besmirch what little reputation I had in life by traipsing around as a dumb bird.¡±


    ¡°So... it¡¯s okay if I keep calling you Nevermore?¡±


    He sighed, wings drooping with resignation. ¡°It¡¯s a much better name for a raven than Edgar, I¡¯ll admit.¡±


    ¡°Glad we¡¯re on the same page,¡± I said, still smiling despite myself. ¡°Now, about the reason I called you here¡­ I am trying to find a dog.¡±


    ¡°A... dog?¡± he interrupted, his beak hanging slightly ajar. ¡°You summoned me for a dog? Surely, you''re joking?¡±


    ¡°Look, I only summoned you here because of the owls,¡± I replied, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. ¡°I haven¡¯t a clue what is going on, or what I may have done, let alone how to dismiss you. I¡¯m just trying to find a missing familiar.¡±


    His head drooped, and he muttered under his breath. ¡°Figures. Fifteen years, and I¡¯m summoned by accident for a dog.¡±


    ¡°And a snake too. We can ignore the spider. I¡¯m actually hoping he¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°Oh goody,¡± said Nevermore, his voice heavy with sarcasm.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said, digging into my jacket pockets, ¡°if it makes you feel any better... I brought blackberries.¡±


    <hr>


    The woods were quieter than I remembered. Maybe it was the daylight, or maybe it was the exhaustion pressing down on me like a fog. Retracing the wolf¡¯s path wasn¡¯t hard¡ªI remembered it too well. Letting the wolf take the wheel last night had kept me conscious, but it left me drained. Safe to say, I hadn¡¯t gotten more than an hour of sleep.


    Nevermore perched on a low branch, his sharp black eyes tracking my every step. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be wiser to ask your neighbors if they¡¯ve seen this Boden?¡± he asked, his voice slicing through the stillness. ¡°A dog like the one you¡¯ve described couldn¡¯t go unnoticed.¡±


    I sighed, brushing a low-hanging branch out of my way. ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone else knowing the familiars are missing.¡±


    ¡°And why not?¡± he pressed. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that make this search significantly easier?¡±


    I shot him a sidelong glance. ¡°Because JT doesn¡¯t even know. If he finds out, I¡¯m dead.¡±


    His head tilted, feathers ruffling in that way he did when appraising something unpleasant. ¡°Let me ensure I have this correct. The woman who owns these creatures is absent. Her stand-in, appointed by her brother, has misplaced several¡ªincluding this Boden¡ªand yet refuses to inform anyone who might assist in their recovery.¡± He paused, clicking his beak thoughtfully. ¡°A fascinating strategy.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like that,¡± I said, my tone sharper than intended. ¡°I¡¯m handling it. I¡¯ve already found a few of them.¡±


    He let out a low, skeptical caw. ¡°Handling it... by traipsing through the woods with a possessed raven, rather than employing the help of others or the resources available in this very house?¡±


    I stopped walking, turning to glare at him. ¡°Okay, first of all, it¡¯s working. Second, I¡¯ve got a system.¡±


    ¡°A system?¡± His wings shifted, the movement dripping with mockery. ¡°Enlighten me.¡±


    I hesitated. ¡°I have a good sense of smell.¡±


    Nevermore stared at me for a long moment, the silence sharper than any insult. Finally, he let out a soft, derisive caw. ¡°Color me skeptical, but a human nose isn¡¯t that capable, last I checked. What¡¯s really going on?¡±


    My mouth tightened. ¡°That depends. Can you keep a secret?¡±


    His head tilted further, a glint of intrigue flickering in his eye. ¡°I¡¯ll take it to my grave.¡±


    ¡°Not exactly comforting,¡± I muttered, pushing past another branch. ¡°Considering you¡¯re already dead.¡±


    His chuckle was dry, rattling like brittle leaves. ¡°Fair point. If it eases your mortal anxieties, you may bind me with an oath. I am now your familiar, after all, and bound to your service. Command me, and I will keep your secret.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re actually bound to keep it?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± He puffed out his chest, clearly relishing his self-importance. ¡°It¡¯s one of the perks of having a familiar as intelligent as I. We make excellent confidants.¡±


    I stopped walking again, meeting his gaze. ¡°Fine. Swear you won¡¯t tell anyone.¡±


    He dipped his head with theatrical flair. ¡°I swear. No word of your secret shall pass my lips.¡±


    ¡°Or beak,¡± I added, lifting an eyebrow.


    He sighed, a long-suffering sound. ¡°...Or beak.¡±


    I glanced around, making sure we were alone before speaking. ¡°I¡¯m a werewolf.¡±


    Nevermore blinked, his head jerking slightly like he needed to reset himself. ¡°Ah. Of course. Though, for clarification, are we talking more of an Underworld werewolf or a Twilight werewolf?¡±


    ¡°Ugh, more Twilight, I guess. Wait. That¡¯s it? No shock? No disbelief?¡±


    He clicked his beak, sounding almost amused. ¡°Miss Avery, I¡¯m a ghost in a bird. Suspension of disbelief is no longer a concern.¡±


    ¡°How do you even know what Twilight is? Those movies didn¡¯t come out until the 2010s. Or did you read the books? Wait. How does a bird read books?¡±


    ¡°They were read to me,¡± he said. ¡°By Sandy. She was enthralled by them in grade school.¡±


    ¡°She and I both,¡± I muttered to myself.


    ¡°Besides,¡± he continued smoothly, ¡°I¡¯ve seen stranger things. Though, this revelation explains a few things.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Like why you¡¯re avoiding anyone who could actually help,¡± he said. ¡°And why you¡¯re so inexplicably determined to solve this on your own. Do Sandy and JT know about your... condition?¡±


    I sighed, crossing my arms. ¡°Sandy doesn¡¯t know. JT doesn¡¯t know. And they don¡¯t need to. I¡¯ve got this handled.¡±


    He clicked his beak thoughtfully. ¡°Curious. And you¡¯ve been managing this... situation solo? No guidance?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve done fine,¡± I snapped, more defensively than I intended. ¡°I don¡¯t turn into a monster or anything. Just a regular wolf. One that doesn¡¯t mind eating dog food. If it weren¡¯t for my apartment¡¯s no-pet policy, I wouldn¡¯t even be in this mess.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± he murmured, his tone dipping into genuine curiosity. ¡°A bit different from the lycanthropy I¡¯m familiar with, but I suppose the term is rather broad.¡±


    I raised a brow. ¡°And what kind are you familiar with?¡±


    He adjusted his perch, claws scraping softly against the bark. ¡°Several varieties. Some rooted in the occult, others biological. But I suspect your case falls under the... occult category.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡ªbiological lycanthropy?¡± I echoed, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Nevermore replied, his tone smooth and matter-of-fact. ¡°A form of infectious madness spread by the bite of an afflicted beast, or by consuming human flesh. It drives the victim into an animalistic rage and a wasting madness.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°So, rabies or Creutzfeldt¨CJakob disease. Got it.¡±


    The raven clicked his beak in begrudging agreement. ¡°Other names, yes. The symptoms do align, but let¡¯s not reduce every myth to mundane science, shall we?¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t have rabies,¡± I said dryly, stepping over a gnarled root. ¡°And I haven¡¯t eaten anyone. Pretty sure I¡¯d remember that. What about the occult kind?¡±


    ¡°That,¡± he said, fluffing his feathers slightly, ¡°is the lycanthropy you¡¯re likely familiar with¡ªan infectious curse. A bite that physically and mentally transforms the victim into a ravenous beast.¡±


    ¡°An infectious curse,¡± I muttered to myself. ¡°Do you have to be bitten to get it?¡±


    ¡°Typically, yes. The strongest curses require a physical anchor. It can be the bite and the saliva, but blood is more common. It can be delivered by a bite or through a wound. Sometimes it¡¯s through consumption¡ªlike with vampirism¡ªor a cursed object, such as an amulet or reliquary.¡±


    I hesitated. ¡°So, vampires are real too?¡±


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t they be?¡± Nevermore asked, as though the question itself were absurd.


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°Fine, but what if you weren¡¯t bitten? How else could you get a curse like lycanthropy?¡±


    He paused, considering. ¡°If there¡¯s no bite, the source must be something equally binding. A curse needs an anchor¡ªa mark, an object, or even a ritual.¡±


    I trudged over a tangle of roots, my flats crunching on dried leaves. ¡°What about a tattoo?¡±


    Nevermore¡¯s head swiveled toward me, his eyes gleaming with sudden curiosity. ¡°A tattoo?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I shot him a wary glance. ¡°I got one while drunk. Around the same time this whole... situation started. Could a tattoo be cursed?¡±


    ¡°May I see it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s on my ass,¡± I deadpanned. ¡°So, no.¡±


    He let out a sigh, his wings fluttering as if to say I was being unreasonable. ¡°Do you remember when or how you got this tattoo? Was there anything peculiar about it¡ªor the person who gave it to you?¡±


    I faltered mid-step. Memories¡ªor rather, the lack of them¡ªscreeched to the forefront. Three blackout days in March. One moment I was getting hammered at my sister¡¯s bachelorette party, the next, I woke up stark naked in the middle of the woods with a brand-new tattoo.


    My silence must have spoken volumes.


    ¡°You sought my insight,¡± Nevermore pressed, his voice sharper now. ¡°And I am sworn to secrecy. Tattoos have been used in magic before.¡±


    Groaning, I stopped walking and turned my back to him. ¡°Fine.¡± I tugged my waistband down just enough to reveal the mark. ¡°Happy now?¡±


    Nevermore hopped closer on the branch, leaning in to study it.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    He said nothing.


    ¡°Ugh, Nevermore, what do you think?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a lovely posterior,¡± he said breezily.


    ¡°Goddammit, Nevermore.¡± I yanked my skirt back up, glaring at him. ¡°The tattoo. What do you think of the tattoo?¡±


    ¡°Apologies,¡± he said, sounding utterly unapologetic. He cleared his throat. ¡°It¡¯s... ornate. Flourishes, I¡¯d say. Seems fairly ordinary.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Flourishes? You mean the jagged lines? And what about the pentagram in the center?¡±


    He tilted his head, feathers fluffing slightly. ¡°What pentagram?¡±


    I froze, then pointed at my back in frustration. ¡°The one in the middle of the damn thing.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± he mused, his tone turning thoughtful. ¡°I believe we¡¯re seeing two very different things.¡±


    I stared at him, trying to process. ¡°Hold up. Are you saying it looks different to you?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say for certain,¡± he replied smoothly, ¡°as I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re seeing. But what I saw clearly looked like a feather flourish.¡±


    A memory resurfaced¡ªSolomon¡¯s words about Arcanum being obfuscated to look like something mundane. ¡°Could a tattoo be disguised with magic?¡± I asked.


    Nevermore preened, clearly enjoying the topic. ¡°It¡¯s possible. Magic is as flexible as its practitioner¡¯s imagination. But creating a cursed tattoo is already difficult. And to disguise it? For a subtle curse, that seems practical. Hides the source. But for something as subtle as a lycanthropic curse, it seems a little¡­ pointless.¡±


    I shifted uncomfortably. ¡°Maybe it was meant to hide it from me.¡±


    ¡°Obviously not, if you can in fact see the real thing,¡± he said pointedly.


    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t look at it directly,¡± I muttered. ¡°I have to use a mirror. Maybe that has something to do with it.¡±


    He tucked his wings neatly, his gaze sharpening. ¡°Yes, I suppose that would make sense. But that raises a more pressing question: What purpose would it serve? Why go through all that effort for someone so... no offense, Miss Avery, but you seem rather... ordinary.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I muttered dryly.


    ¡°If your hypothesis is correct,¡± he continued, ¡°the intent may not have been to hide it from you, but from someone¡ªor something¡ªelse.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Like who?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t know,¡± he said, his tone turning breezy and maddeningly unhelpful. ¡°But isn¡¯t it fun to imagine?¡±


    No, no it was not.


    What it suggested was that my so-called ¡°simple case¡± of lycanthropy was anything but. It meant that this wasn¡¯t some random wolf bite, like in most movies, but something more deliberate¡ªpremeditated. And others would be involved. The implications were enough to set my brain buzzing in all the wrong ways, so I latched onto the next logical question to push the thoughts aside.


    ¡°How would someone even go about creating something like that?¡±


    ¡°Assuming it is cursed, of course,¡± Nevermore began, his tone laced with curiosity, ¡°the process wouldn¡¯t be subtle. Especially if you¡¯re overlaying two effects: the curse and the obfuscation. As for the method, I haven¡¯t the faintest idea. But, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if mundane tattooing instruments were involved. The ink and the design, or, at least, the intention behind the design, would be the critical elements.¡±


    I pushed aside a tangle of brambles. ¡°What about Sandy? Would she know anything about magic tattoos? She can apparently obfuscate Arcanum, albeit not very well.¡±


    ¡°Ah, Sandra,¡± he murmured, his voice dipping into something almost fond. ¡°I can¡¯t speak to what she¡¯s learned since I was last summoned. But what Ellenore would have taught her focused more on speaking than writing.¡±


    ¡°So, Ellenore used spoken-word magic?¡±


    Nevermore nodded, his feathers fluffing. ¡°Compulsions, commands¡ªwords imbued with intent. She crafted them meticulously and tested them... on me, mostly, and others.¡±


    I stopped short, giving him a wary glance. ¡°Others?¡±


    ¡°She occasionally required a human test subject,¡± he said lightly, though his tone carried an edge, like an echo of something he¡¯d rather leave buried. ¡°Words can be powerful, Miss Avery. Even normal ones. Ellenore understood that well.¡±


    I thought back to the Arcanum words I¡¯d learned, rattling them off in my mind: <i>Sit, stay, come, speak, listen</i>, and <i>he</i>¡ª


    Nevermore squawked sharply, his wings flapping wildly. ¡°Bloody hell, don¡¯t string them like that! And why are you projecting them?¡±


    ¡°Projecting?¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t speaking,¡± he said, his tone sharp with unease. ¡°You were projecting your thoughts. Direct communication.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°I¡¯ve been able to do that with animals since this werewolf thing started.¡±


    He clicked his beak thoughtfully. ¡°Fascinating. Compulsions and commands are far more potent when projected.¡±


    ¡°Would it work on humans?¡±


    ¡°Only if they can receive thoughts,¡± he replied, his voice measured. ¡°Most can¡¯t. Humans aren¡¯t built for that. And those who are often find it... burdensome.¡±


    I swallowed hard. ¡°Is that why being around dogs makes me feel what they feel?¡±


    ¡°Likely,¡± he said, his gaze sharpening. ¡°A transmitter can also function as a receiver. Two-way communication.¡±


    ¡°Huh. You really like radios, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°They fascinate me,¡± he said simply, preening his feathers.


    Grateful for the shift in focus, I pressed on. ¡°So, does Sandy have the same kind of magic as Ellenore?¡±


    ¡°Doubtful,¡± Nevermore replied, his feathers settling. ¡°The Sandra I remember lacked Ellenore¡¯s knack for compulsion. But not for wordplay. And it¡¯s clear from what I¡¯ve observed¡ªyour use of Arcanum¡ªthat she¡¯s learned a few things under her aunt¡¯s tutelage.¡±


    ¡°JT said they were like mother and daughter,¡± I offered, stepping over a root and adjusting my pace.


    ¡°Indeed, they were close,¡± he said, his tone softer now, almost wistful. ¡°Much closer than little Jacky ever was with Ellenore.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°JT wasn¡¯t close to her?¡±


    ¡°No, Jacky loved her too,¡± he replied, ¡°but he didn¡¯t quite have the same patience for Ellenore¡¯s... eccentricities. Nor did he possess his sister''s talents. Smart lad though.¡±


    I hesitated before asking, ¡°Then what about you? Why hasn¡¯t Sandy or JT tried to summon you in fifteen years?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯ve tried. At least, Sandra tried.¡± Nevermore said with a dry chuckle. ¡°Ellenore ensured they couldn¡¯t. I asked her to. She made it so her raven wouldn¡¯t hear their voices. Let me have my rest. Though...¡± He paused, fluffing his feathers. ¡°He¡¯d tune in from time to time. That¡¯s just his nature. Annoying, really.¡±


    I frowned, frustration prickling at the back of my mind. ¡°But he listened to me. Why?¡±


    Nevermore shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. ¡°Perhaps your ability to project thoughts found a chink in the enchantment. Or maybe, with Ellenore gone, it¡¯s weakened. And that those damn owls having you invoke me on hallowed ground, well, it sealed the deal.¡±


    ¡°Lucky me,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°Quite,¡± he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.


    As we walked, his words hung heavy in the air, tugging at the edges of my thoughts. I should have been focused on finding Boden, but questions about Sandy, Ellenore, and the damned tattoo lingered like gnats on a humid afternoon.


    The conversation lapsed into silence. The woods were thicker here, the air clinging to my skin like a damp sweater. The late-afternoon sun pierced through the canopy in narrow beams, illuminating the faint shimmer of heat rising off the forest floor. Then, the scent hit me¡ªcoppery, earthy, and sickly sweet.


    We stepped into a small clearing, and there it was: the deer carcass. The body lay splayed across the ground, bones picked clean save for lingering strands of flesh and sinew , now crawling with flies. A buzzing filled the air with a dull hum.


    ¡°Ghastly,¡± Nevermore murmured, cocking his head as he studied it. ¡°Did Boden do this?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± My grip tightened on the straps of my bag, nausea churning in my stomach. ¡°I did. Well... the wolf did. I wasn¡¯t really in control.¡±


    He regarded me carefully, his gaze sharp. ¡°And you ate the whole thing?¡±


    ¡°She shared,¡± I muttered, my tone defensive. ¡°With like, eight other dogs.¡±


    ¡°Ah, a magnanimous huntress,¡± he said, his voice dripping with amusement. ¡°And Boden was among them?¡±


    I nodded, keeping my eyes off the ground, away from the carcass.


    ¡°So, the wolf led them,¡± he mused, his beak clicking thoughtfully. ¡°A pack following her command?¡±


    ¡°She was¡­ Taking them for a walk.¡±


    Nevermore¡¯s cackle was sharp and sudden, cutting through the oppressive hum of the flies. ¡°Oh, they must have loved that. And you? What was it like?¡±


    I clenched my jaw, bile sour in the back of my throat. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±


    ¡°How delightfully evasive,¡± he said, hopping to another branch to keep pace with me. ¡°Do you shy from your instincts, Miss Avery? The thrill, the chase, the¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why do you even care?¡± I snapped, stopping to glare at him.


    ¡°Care?¡± He fluffed his feathers dramatically, his voice taking on a theatrical lilt. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I? I may be dead, but I was once a renowned chronicler of the grim and the macabre.¡± He gave a mock bow. ¡°Perhaps I could compose a little something to commemorate your nocturnal escapades.¡±


    ¡°How about no¡ª¡±


    Before I could stop him, he launched into a poem:


    ¡°A modest young lady at dusk,


    Sought no quarrel, no rancor, no fuss.


    But the moon in her eyes,


    Did cast off her guise,


    And her heart turned to wanderlust.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡± I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead. ¡°A limerick? Are you done?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m just getting started,¡± he said cheerfully, clearing his throat with exaggerated drama.


    ¡°By day, she wore suits and fine dress,


    By night, she left everything a mess.


    From boardrooms to woods,


    She misunderstood,


    That wolves find corporate life... quite a stress.¡±


    I exhaled sharply, fighting the urge to laugh. ¡°Nevermore, if you value your feathers, you¡¯ll stop.¡±


    ¡°Ah, threats now?¡± he quipped, hopping to a branch just out of reach. ¡°How utterly predictable. But I refuse to be silenced! Observe:¡±


    ¡°With grace and a glare, she proceeds,


    Through mysteries and werewolf misdeeds.


    Her partner, a raven,


    For ghosts she is bravin¡¯,


    Together, they solve strange miscreeds.¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± I snapped and covered my ears, though my words lacked any real bite. ¡°You¡¯re ridiculous. Do you just sit around thinking these up?¡±


    ¡°Ridiculous?¡± He flapped his wings in mock outrage, swooping to perch on my shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know, my dear, that you are witnessing a master at his craft.¡±


    I stopped walking, giving him a sidelong glance. ¡°Master, huh? You¡¯ve been waiting to use these on someone for years, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Ages,¡± he admitted with a dramatic sigh. ¡°It¡¯s refreshing, really, to have an audience again.¡±


    ¡°And by audience, you mean someone who can¡¯t actually leave,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°Precisely!¡± he crowed, preening his feathers. ¡°Now, shall I continue?¡±


    I groaned. ¡°Do I have a choice?¡±


    ¡°Not remotely,¡± he said, puffing up his chest. ¡°Here¡¯s another one, just for you:¡±


    ¡°A wolf in her office attire,


    Takes a case that will likely backfire.


    With a raven in tow,


    She hunts high and low,


    For the truth in the muck and the mire.¡±


    Despite myself, I cracked a smile, quickly hiding it behind my hand. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll give you that one. It¡¯s not terrible.¡±


    ¡°Not terrible?¡± he squawked, feigning offense. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know, it¡¯s a masterpiece of wit and form. You should be honored.¡±


    I shook my head, the corners of my mouth still betraying my amusement. ¡°I swear, if I didn¡¯t need you, you¡¯d be stuffed and mounted by now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d miss me terribly,¡± he replied, his voice smug.


    ¡°Debatable.¡±


    Before we said anything more, I caught a faint yet familiar scent¡ªCoy and Emma. They were nearby. I inhaled and called out, ¡°Coy! Emma! Here, now!¡±


    Off in the distance, underbrush rustled, and soon they trotted into view, tails wagging and ears forward, the picture of self-satisfaction.


    Then I caught another scent.


    ¡°Oh, for¡ª¡± I pinched the bridge of my nose, glaring at the pair. ¡°You were supposed to be looking for Boden, not... goofing off.¡±


    Coy tilted his head, his tongue lolling lazily as if to say, <i>Us? Never</i>.


    Emma trotted up, nuzzling my hand with exaggerated innocence, the kind only guilty dogs can manage.


    I opened my mouth to scold them when Coy snorted, cutting me off. His thought pressed into mine, clear and direct: <i>Found something. Follow.</i>


    I blinked. ¡°Wait, what? Is it Boden?¡±


    Coy huffed impatiently, his tail wagging harder.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I sighed, waving a hand. ¡°Lead the way.¡±


    They spun and darted back into the trees, weaving through the undergrowth with the effortless grace of creatures born for it. I stumbled after them, tripping over roots and muttering curses. Ballet flats on a forest trail were as useful as roller skates on gravel, and my sneakers¡ªalong with my common sense¡ªwere back at the house.


    Nevermore fluttered ahead, landing on a low branch like a smug tour guide. ¡°Would it kill you to keep up?¡±


    ¡°Would it kill you to be helpful?¡± I shot back, yanking my sleeve free from a snagging branch.


    The trees thinned, revealing the rusted steel rails of railroad tracks. Coy and Emma trotted along the edge, their paws clicking softly against the gravel. I followed, the crunch of stones beneath my flats grating on my already frayed nerves.


    ¡°Are we trespassing?¡± Nevermore asked, flapping down to perch on my shoulder.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I muttered. ¡°CSX owns the tracks. So it''s private property. Technically, it''s illegal to be here. But I doubt there¡¯s anyone around to enforce that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re truly a model citizen,¡± he said with a dry chuckle.


    I ignored him, focusing instead on the faint hum of high-voltage power lines overhead. The memory of last night surged forward: the wolf¡¯s heightened senses catching the buzzing, the electric tang in the air, the primal urge to avoid the open meadows beneath the lines.


    ¡°The wolf stayed clear of the power lines,¡± I said, half to myself. ¡°But the tracks? She liked the tracks. Woods on either side, thick canopy above¡ªa dark little tunnel. Perfect for prowling.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Nevermore mused, tilting his head. ¡°but what you¡¯re really saying is, deep down, you want to freighthop out west and live the drifter¡¯s life.¡±


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°She thought it was fun. The dogs did too.¡±


    ¡°And Boden?¡±


    I frowned, trying to piece it together. ¡°He followed. But the wolf stopped at the drawbridge¡ªshe didn¡¯t cross.¡±


    ¡°And the dog?¡±


    The question hung in the air as we reached the riverbank. The Ashley River stretched wide before us, the drawbridge towering above like a steel skeleton against the hazy afternoon light. Lowered now, it cut a stark line across the water, though I knew it wouldn¡¯t stay that way for long.


    I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. There it was¡ªBoden¡¯s scent. Faint but distinct, carried on the humid breeze.


    I groaned. ¡°He crossed.¡±


    Nevermore fluttered to the bridge railing, his sharp eyes scanning the opposite shore. ¡°And now he¡¯s stuck on the other side?¡±


    ¡°Seems like it,¡± I muttered. ¡°Boaters can call in to get the bridge raised. I¡¯m guessing that¡¯s what happened, and Boden got caught on the wrong side when it went up.¡±


    Coy wagged his tail furiously, his pride evident. <i>We did good?</i>


    I patted his head distractedly. ¡°Yes, you did a good job, Coy.¡±


    ¡°Charming,¡± Nevermore said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. ¡°What¡¯s our brilliant plan now?¡±


    ¡°We head back.¡± I turned, already retracing my steps along the railroad tracks. ¡°I¡¯ll need the car to go into Charleston. Not walking across this bridge on foot. Too risky. Especially not during the day.¡±


    ¡°Practical,¡± he said, feigning surprise. ¡°For once.¡±


    I shot him a glare, but he only cawed in amusement, swooping ahead to perch on a low-hanging branch. Coy and Emma followed me, their tails wagging happily, oblivious to the weight of my thoughts.


    The tracks stretched ahead, the rusted rails gleaming faintly in the sunlight as we passed through narrow corridors of trees. The midday heat pressed down, making the stillness almost oppressive. Time passed in rhythmic steps, the crunch of gravel underfoot blending with the distant hum of cicadas.


    We were halfway back to Sandy¡¯s when the barking cut through the air¡ªa sharp, frantic yapping that sent a shiver racing down my spine. It wasn¡¯t Boden. Too small. But there was something feral in it, something violent.


    I stopped, my heart thudding as Coy and Emma froze beside me, their ears swiveling toward the sound.


    Nevermore, perched lazily on my shoulder, gave a dismissive click of his beak. ¡°Shall we investigate, or are you hoping it resolves itself?¡±


    I shot him a look. ¡°You¡¯re the one with wings. Go check it out.¡±


    With a dramatic flutter, he launched himself into the air, vanishing over the treetops. Coy whined softly, his nose twitching toward the noise, but I laid a hand on his head. ¡°Stay,¡± I said firmly, though my own instincts urged me to move.


    Moments later, Nevermore returned, his feathers ruffled in what I could only describe as gleeful disbelief. He landed on a branch above me, his voice pitched with amusement. ¡°You¡¯re going to love this,¡± he announced. ¡°There¡¯s this Jack Russell terrier¡ªan absolutely tiny thing¡ªfighting the largest snake I¡¯ve ever seen. And, shockingly, the dog seems to be winning.¡±


    My stomach dropped. ¡°Describe the snake.¡±


    ¡°Massive. At least twenty-five feet long. Black and gold scales. Quite impressive, really.¡± His head tilted. ¡°I presume it¡¯s one of ours?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Monty,¡± I said, breaking into a jog. ¡°But she¡¯s usually not that big.¡±


    ¡°Do I even want to ask why Sandra keeps such a python?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s supposed to only be five or six feet. Pet-sized,¡± I called over my shoulder, leaping over a low ditch as the barking grew louder.


    ¡°And now?¡±


    ¡°No idea,¡± I huffed. ¡°Probably magic. Always fucking magic.¡±


    Nevermore swooped alongside me, a note of laughter in his voice. ¡°How does one handle a twenty-five-foot familiar?¡±


    ¡°Badly,¡± I muttered, skidding to a stop at the edge of a wooden privacy fence. The barking was coming from just on the other side.


    Peering over, I found the scene Nevermore described¡ªand it was every bit as bad as I imagined.


    Monty was enormous, making what was an otherwise respectable suburban backyard, with a swimming pool, seem tiny and cramped by comparison. Her golden scales shimmered under the midday sun, her massive body twisting and coiling as she struck at a scrappy Jack Russell terrier. The little dog was relentless, darting and dodging with terrifying speed, its teeth snapping at her tail and flank whenever she missed. Monty¡¯s glittering scales were smeared with blood, dozens of tiny bite marks marring her length. But her strikes were getting closer.


    ¡°Dammit, Monty,¡± I muttered.


    Nevermore perched on the fence, tilting his head like a critic appraising a chaotic performance. ¡°Charming little tableau, isn¡¯t it? What¡¯s your plan?¡±


    I scanned the yard quickly¡ªno people, just the writhing chaos of snake and dog. ¡°We need to get Monty out of there before she eats that dog or someone sees this mess.¡±


    I dropped my purse and shrugged off my suit jacket.


    ¡°And how, pray tell, do you plan to manage that?¡±


    I took a step back, sizing up the fence, and muttered, ¡°Stupid idea.¡± I tossed the jacket towards Coy and Emma. ¡°Hold this.¡±


    Then I jumped.


    My goal had been to grab the top of the fence and pull myself over, but the wolf had a different idea. She stirred as I pushed off, lending me strength, and I cleared the fence with plenty of room to spare. Too much, actually. I landed awkwardly, my legs buckled as I stumbled forward, knees driving into the ground, hands barely catching myself before faceplanting into the grass.


    "How about warn me next time," I hissed.


    ¡°That was... theatrical,¡± Nevermore remarked for his fence perch.


    I ignored him, sprinting toward the fight unfolding near the pool. Monty¡¯s head shot forward like lightning, but the terrier twisted away just in time, its teeth sinking into her side instead.


    ¡°Monty! Both of you!¡± I shouted, skidding to a stop. ¡°Stop!¡±


    Neither animal acknowledged me.


    Monty¡¯s movements grew more erratic, her coils thrashing as she tried to shake the dog off. Her wide, dark eyes gleamed with more than just anger¡ªshe was scared.


    I hesitated, my pulse hammering. ¡°Bad idea,¡± I muttered, then lunged for Monty¡¯s head.


    She reared back, her body coiling like a spring, her head poised to strike. The image of a news segment flashed through my mind¡ªan Indonesian man swallowed whole by a reticulated python. The specialist they¡¯d brought on had outlined key survival tips: avoid their bite, avoid being wrapped, and above all, control the head.


    Easier said than done.


    Monty lunged, and I moved instinctively, grabbing just behind her jaw. Her forward momentum yanked me off my feet, and I stumbled before regaining my footing. Her scales were slick and warm beneath my fingers, muscles rippling with shocking power as she writhed.


    ¡°Monty, <i>heel</i>!¡± I shouted, pushing the command¡ªa recent addition to my repetoriare¡ªinto her mind with as much force as I could muster.


    For a brief, miraculous moment, she froze. Her black tongue flicked in and out, and her massive body trembled but stilled. Relief washed over me.


    Then the Jack Russell sank its teeth into her tail again.


    Monty¡¯s stillness shattered. She lashed out, her massive coils thrashing wildly, and I staggered under the sheer force of her struggle. I tightened my grip on her head, but the terrier¡¯s relentless biting sent her into a frenzy.


    ¡°Get off her!¡± I yelled at the dog, but all that was in the little beast¡¯s mind was an untempered bloodlust. It clamped down harder, growling through clenched jaws.


    In my hands, I could feel Monty¡¯s body shifting¡ªgrowing. The more agitated she became, the larger she swelled, her scales pressing harder against my palms. Her massive form twisted violently, pulling me off balance. My feet slipped on the damp grass, and before I could steady myself, we toppled backward¡ªstraight into the pool.


    The water hit like a slap, a chilling shock. My grip on Monty faltered, and in an instant, her jaws snapped down on my shoulder. Pain flared hot and sharp, tearing a scream from my throat.


    I thrashed instinctively, trying to pull free, but Monty moved faster, pulling me into her embrace. Her powerful coils wrapped around me, pinning my arms to my sides, each loop tightening like a steel cable.


    This was a stupid idea. A very, very stupid idea.


    Monty''s head was almost face-to-face with me, her dark eyes gleaming with an eerie intelligence¡ªand fury. This wasn¡¯t just a fight anymore. The realization struck me with sickening clarity: she had her prey and was now hunting.


    The coils tightened further, crushing the air from my lungs. Bubbles streamed gently upwards, each one marking the precious breath I couldn¡¯t reclaim. My vision blurred at the edges, the weight of Monty¡¯s body dragging me deeper into the pool.


    I couldn¡¯t move. Couldn¡¯t think.


    This is it, I thought dimly. This is how I die. Stupidly, in a backyard pool, wrestling a giant snake.


    Then, deep inside, the wolf stirred once again.


    It was more forceful this time, not a polite nudge but a full-bodied shove. A feral snarl ripped through my chest, low and guttural, vibrating through the water. It wasn¡¯t a sound I made¡ªnot consciously. It came from somewhere deeper, wilder.


    My grip on the proverbial wheel of my mind slipped. I gritted my teeth, trying to hold steady as the wolf surged forward, clawing for control.


    Bones cracked and reshaped, the ache sharp and relentless. My nails curved into claws, and my jaw stretched forward, teeth sharpening into predatory points. A rush of raw, primal strength flooded my limbs, my senses sharpening to a razor¡¯s edge. Colors dulled, replaced by shapes and movements that snapped into crystal clarity.


    The pressure of Monty¡¯s coils was no longer unbearable. Manageable, even.


    The wolf didn¡¯t hesitate.


    We twisted forward, our teeth sinking into the thick flesh of Monty¡¯s neck. Her scales resisted, smooth and impenetrable, but then they gave way. A keening hiss escaped her as blood welled beneath my bite. Her coils loosened¡ªnot by much, but enough.


    The wolf growled again, urging me to finish it.


    <i>No</i>. My thoughts shot forward, sharp and resolute. I clamped down on the wolf¡¯s intent, pulling back even as its strength coursed through me. I wouldn¡¯t let her kill Monty.


    Still, the wolf¡¯s power was undeniable. Even as I held back, I could feel it¡ªthe strength to snap Monty¡¯s neck like a twig. Just a mere thought and I could end her.


    Monty¡¯s frenzy faltered, her blind fury giving way to confusion. I sensed it, like an echo in my mind¡ªa flicker of submission beneath her fear, and I seized the opportunity.


    <i>Heel!</i> I projected the word, sharp and commanding, with every ounce of focus I had.


    Monty shuddered. Her massive coils began to loosen, sliding away from me as her enormous size began to diminish with every passing second. Finally freed, I broke the surface of the pool with a desperate gasp, gulping down air as water streamed from my fur.


    The wolf receded slightly, though her grip on the wheel remained firm, her instincts coiled and ready.


    Dragging myself to the edge of the pool, I heaved Monty onto my shoulders like a soaked, defeated scarf. The command I had used was one that Sandy employed specifically to pacify some of her more volatile charges, and it was fortunate that I had made time to read more of her book. Had my struggle with Monty drawn out any further, neither I nor the wolf would have had the strength to do anything but bite all the way down. I could feel the wolf''s strength faltering, and every step felt deliberate, weighed down by a wave of exhaustion and the waterlogged mess of my clothes.


    Monty¡¯s reduced size made her easier to carry, but the terrier clinging to her tail was another story. The little dog¡¯s jaws were locked tight, its growling muffled only by the occasional snarl.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± I muttered through clenched teeth, prying the dog loose with one hand. It barked sharply¡ªdefiant¡ªbefore tearing off toward the house, its tiny legs a blur.


    I stood there, dripping and trembling, Monty¡¯s weight pressing against my aching shoulders. My hybrid form lingered¡ªthe wolf unwilling to retreat completely. The air felt too sharp, the sounds too close. Something wasn¡¯t right.


    I turned slowly, my senses prickling with unease.


    Three kids¡ªno older than twelve¡ªstood in the window of the house next door, their eyes wide. In their hands: smartphones.


    My stomach dropped.


    I stared at them, my mind struggling to process the layers of the awful reality unfolding in real time. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest, realizing far too late that my soaked white dress shirt¡ªand me sans a bra¡ªwas far too revealing.


    But no. That wasn¡¯t the real problem.


    I was a hulking werewolf, standing in a suburban backyard in broad daylight, draped in a python, dripping wet.


    And those kids had smartphones, which were recording.


    A creeping sense of dread slithered into my gut, cold and unrelenting. It coiled tighter as I imagined the possibilities. In just a few clicks, I¡¯d be plastered all over the internet. Hell, I was probably already being upload to social media this very moment, and I''d be  clickbait by day''s end.


    <b>Snake lady werewolf freakout!</b>


    <b>Live! Real-life werewolf!</b>


    <b>Bra? What bra?</b>


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    <hr>

 Chapter 7:

    The gravel crunched beneath my padded feet as I bounded down the railroad tracks. In my rush to escape the yard, I hadn¡¯t taken the time to transform back to my human self. I had, instead, shoved the wolf into the passenger''s seat, and made my escape. For now, she was begrudgingly along for the ride.


    Monty hung around my neck like a bizarre¡ªand uncomfortably tight¡ªscarf, her head lifted, her tongue flickering as she tasted the air.


    My wet fur was plastered and matted against a dress skirt that clung and tugged with every awkward stride. Between my clothes lack of give¡ªtailored to fit a more human form¡ªmy sodden pelt, and the general awkwardness of running on digitigrade legs for the first time, I felt like a clumsy tangle of limbs, bounding tie to tie with the grace of a half-drowned gazelle.


    The tracks, flanked by thick woods on either side, offered cover from passing cars and pedestrians, ensuring I had a safe and secure route home. I could secret Monty and myself back to Sandy¡¯s with drawing more attention. Not that it could save me from the attention I¡¯d already garnered for myself. But, barring home videos, there was a slim chance that someone in a passing train would come by and see me¡ªa streaking werewolf leading a pack of dogs.


    My purse jostled against one shoulder, while my rolled-up suit jacket sat tucked under my other arm. Coy and Emma raced behind me, Emma¡¯s tongue lolling as she bounded behind me, and Coy with his jaws clamped around one of my ballet flats that had fallen off after my feet stopped being feet.


    God knew that my other flat was still floating back in the pool of the yard I¡¯d just come from. I had Cinderella¡¯d myself and, in doing so, ensured that there was definitive proof tying me back to the yard where the kids had recorded me.


    Behind Coy and Emma, bringing up the rear, was the Jack Russell terrier¡ªtheir tiny legs pumping with a maniacal determination I couldn¡¯t fathom.


    To be clear, I wasn¡¯t running from the kids with the cameras. I was running from the damn dog. The little Jack Russell terrorist was barreling after us, seemingly intent on finishing its fight with Monty. Getting the snake home, and back into her sun basket, was my top priority, but the terrier was making it a nightmare. I had to constantly command Monty to calm down so that she wouldn¡¯t go into a frenzy again.


    At first I assumed that the terrier¡¯s beef was just with Monty, but, despite having saved their life, I too had somehow incurred their wrath. Back in the yard with the pool, the terrier had, at first, stood their ground, yipping and snarling at Monty and me. But, just as I turned my back to it, intending to leap the fence, sharp teeth sank into my tail, and I didn¡¯t so much clear the fence as tumble over it, diving headfirst into the foliage on the other side.


    I could only imagine that the terrier, with its nipped tail, envied Monty and me for our long and intact tails, and sought to make us suffer through them.


    Spitting out twigs and dirt from my teeth, I staggered to my feet, shaking myself off like a wet dog. Monty damn-near strangled me as a result, reacting unfavorably to the sudden and jarring jostling she¡¯d just been subjected to.


    The plan from there had been to trot home at a reasonable pace, but that soon went out the window. The terrier, having apparently dug many a hole under its fence, easily escaped containment, and pursued us.


    ¡°What¡¯s with this dog?¡± I growled through gritted teeth, sparing a glance behind me.


    ¡°Unparalleled tenacity,¡± Nevermore said, gliding effortlessly beside me. His wings barely stirred the humid air, his pace infuriatingly unhurried. ¡°It¡¯s a characteristic of their breed.¡±


    ¡°For fuck''s sake. Heel!¡± I hissed at Monty, projecting the command into her mind, as I felt her beginning to grow herself again. My shoulder throbbed from where she¡¯d bitten me in her enlarged state, and my clumsy feet stumble over a pair of the uneven railroad ties. I was juggling too many things in the circus my life had become.


    ¡°Not to change the subject,¡± he began, ¡°but are you just going to leave those kids with the recordings?¡±


    I lost my balance as my foot sank into the gravel between the ties¡ªI¡¯d over estimated my leap. Good thing I didn¡¯t have ankles to twist.


    ¡°What am I supposed to do?¡± I shot back at him. ¡°Break into their house and steal their phones? I¡¯d only be digging myself into a deeper hole.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± he said lightly, ¡°it couldn¡¯t be more risky than leaving them with irrefutable evidence of your lycanthropy. I thought the plan was to avoid attention.¡±


    ¡°No one¡¯s going to believe it¡¯s real,¡± I said, my tone clipped. ¡°People will think it¡¯s a deepfake or a costume. Have you seen what people can do with video editing these days?¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes,¡± he mused. ¡°Let the internet decide you¡¯re merely a lunatic in an elaborate getup. An interesting gamble, though it might complicate things.¡±


    My ears twitched toward him. ¡°How, exactly?¡±


    He hesitated for only a moment. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know¡ªperhaps the trifling matter of exposing yourself to minors.¡±


    I stopped dead in my tracks, spinning around so quickly that gravel scattered beneath my claws. ¡°Oh, shit!¡±


    Coy and Emma paused ahead of me, tails wagging in nervous anticipation. Behind me, the terrier stopped too, barking furiously, watching for an opening.


    How could I have missed this? Even if no one believed the video was real, it didn¡¯t matter. I hadn¡¯t just trespassed¡ªI¡¯d left behind footage that skirted dangerously close to NC-17 territory.


    Trespassing and Indecent exposure were one thing. Barely a slap on the wrist if you could pay the fine.


    But this? This could qualify me for Section 16-15-140¡ªCommitting Lewd Acts Upon a Minor. A single violation could earn me 15 years in prison.


    Three kids. Three violations.


    This entire time I thought lycanthropy would ruin my life, when I was more than capable of doing it myself the entire time. With my own god damn assets.


    ¡°Oh, God,¡± I whispered, panic clawing at my throat ¡°We have to go back!¡±


    Nevermore cocked his head, feathers ruffling in amusement. ¡°Oh I wouldn¡¯t worry that much about it. Aside from getting outed as a crazy lady, I can¡¯t imagine that they could press any charges. They have to prove intent to do that. And I am pretty sure you didn¡¯t intend to dive into that pool.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t get it!¡± I snapped, pacing in tight circles. ¡°Intent doesn¡¯t matter when you¡¯ve got a record like mine! I already have priors for trespassing and public indecency. I only avoided jail time because I was diagnosed with narcolepsy and a hormonal disorder!¡±


    ¡°Hmm, a fair misdiagnosis,¡± Nevermore said, with a dry chuckle. ¡°Lycanthropy isn¡¯t exactly covered in med school.¡±


    I ignored him. ¡°Judge Childs already ordered me to get psychotherapy because she thinks I¡¯m neglecting my treatment. If the courts think I doing this for YouTube clout, I¡¯m fucked! Do you get that?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps a friendly scare might ensure their silence,¡± he suggested. ¡°Children are remarkably impressionable.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I shouted, spinning toward him again. ¡°We can¡¯t go around threatening kids! That only makes it worse!¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± he said mildly, ¡°the boy likely plans to show the video to all his friends. At his age, it¡¯s practically inevitable.¡±


    I opened my mouth to retort, but pain shot up my spine before I could speak.


    The terrier had seized its chance, its jaws snapping shut around my tail like a spring-loaded trap. I yelped and I spun in a frantic circle, trying to dislodge the little menace.


    ¡°Let go, you little¡ªack!¡± I gasped as Monty coiled tighter around my neck, her golden scales tightening down on my windpipe. Staggering, I reached for the terrier with one hand while trying to pry Monty¡¯s grip loose with the other. Each spin only sent the dog swinging, its jaws stubbornly clamped onto my tail.


    ¡°Chasing your tail, are we?¡± Nevermore glided down, his tone laced with dry amusement. ¡°How delightfully on-brand.¡±


    ¡°Not... helping!¡± I rasped. The pain in my ribs¡ªfrom Monty''s crushing me earlier¡ªflared as I strained myself in an attempt to grab the dog. Monty¡¯s strength hadn¡¯t waned since our scuffle in the pool, it was only being tapped down. I sent a sharp mental command to Monty: <i>Heel.</i> She froze momentarily, loosening her grip just enough to let me breathe, but I could since her agitation only simmered beneath the surface.


    The terrier¡¯s presence was setting her off, and it was becoming clear that my earlier escape plan had failed spectacularly. The terrier was free and continued to trigger Monty¡¯s defensive behavior over and over again. If I didn¡¯t get her home soon, I¡¯d be gearing up for round two of Wolf vs. Python.


    Despite the potential danger the situation entailed, the wolf yawned in the back of my mind. Her indifference felt like a passenger leaning against the window while the driver struggled to keep the car on the road. She wanted to return to her nap and clearly believed her job was done.


    I wasn¡¯t sure what would happen if the wolf fully withdrew at this point, but considering the fatigue I¡¯d experience this morning when I tried to transform by myself, I didn¡¯t want to find out what would happen now. I¡¯d probably black out only to find myself at the mercy of a hungry and enraged Monty,  too weak to fight back.


    <i>Don¡¯t you dare check out now</i>, I thought, trying to drag her back into focus.


    Her reply was a low growl, though, one that was more exasperated than angry.


    Nevermore landed lightly on a low-hanging branch, tilting his head as he studied me. ¡°You seem to be unraveling, Miss Avery. Might I suggest delegating some responsibility to me?¡±


    ¡°What... do you mean?¡± I managed, still wrestling with Monty as my vision blurred¡ªa supernatural being I may be, but immune to a lack of blood flow to the brain I was not.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re clearly preoccupied,¡± he said, flicking a wing as if to point at the snake around my neck. ¡°Perhaps I can handle our young documentarians. Children are quite imaginative creatures, and a little narrative intervention can do wonders.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re suggesting we scare them?¡± I tightened my grip on Monty as she squirmed, her scales grating against my skin.


    ¡°Scare? No, no,¡± he said, his tone mockingly affronted. ¡°Merely provide them with a story. Something fantastical enough to sate their curiosity such that they won''t go looking for their own answers.¡±


    ¡°How does that help me?¡± I demanded, panting as Monty began to relax.


    ¡°Children¡¯s minds are like little fires¡ªthey burn brightest when fueled. What I propose will redirect the blaze.¡± Nevermore spread his wings wide, like the arms of a preacher giving a sermon. ¡°Think about it, those children are still young enough to believe in the monsters and boogeyman that their parents tell them don¡¯t exist. Yet, now, they¡¯ve seen something that only validates what their minds want to believe is true.¡±


    Nevermore hopped off the branch, alighting onto my shoulder, the energy in his voice growing by the second¡ªcontrasting with the growing feeling of apprehension in my gut.


    ¡°Now enter me, and talking bird, spinning tales of wonder to explain what they¡¯ve seen such that their secrecy becomes of the utmost importance. It¡¯s a simpler solution than leaving them to find the truth themselves. Don''t you think?¡±


    ¡°That¡­ that actually sounds worse than threatening them,¡± I shot back.


    ¡°Bah. Worse is subjective,¡± he said with infuriating calm.


    I commanded Monty to heel once again, and her grip finally loosened. Seizing the opportunity, I let go of her and immediately reversed the direction I¡¯d been turning. This shook Nevermore off my shoulder¡ªforcing him to flutter back to the branch¡ªand flung the terrier forward. I caught them with my suit jacket and I began swaddling the little dog, who was still dead set on chewing on my tail. Soon, I had them in a tightly bound bundle. I then pried it off my tail and tucked it under one arm, keeping them restrained as it yipped and wriggled futilely.


    ¡°See, Monty,¡± I panted, gesturing towards the dog, ¡°nothing to worry about anymore. Now calm the fuck down.¡±


    I could feel my knees buckling, and I slumped against a tree as exhaustion washed over me. It wasn¡¯t just mine, but the wolf¡¯s. Whatever she was doing to allow us to transform like this was taxing for the both of us.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I said, returning my attention back to Nevermore. ¡°But this better not come back to bite me in the ass.¡±


    ¡°An inevitability, I think, but one we can hopefully delay,¡± he replied glibly, taking off the way we¡¯d come.


    I eventually pushed myself off the tree and stumbled forward in the direction of home.


    <hr>


    I made it back to Sandy¡¯s yard and barely mustered the strength to hop this fence as well¡ªI hadn¡¯t the keys to open the gate. I instructed Coy to let Emma and himself through the front door as I began to unwrap the terrier.


    ¡°Alley-oop,¡± I said, and tossed the terrier back over the fence. If landing unceremoniously in the bushes phased them at all, they showed no sign. Instead, they bolted off barking, running the fence¡¯s length as if trying to find another way in. My hope was that they''d eventually lose interest and return home.


    The wolf stirred, yawning in a silent stretch before she curled up and withdrew, receding into the recesses of my mind.


    I didn¡¯t get far before the dizziness hit.


    The sensation hadn''t a gradual onset or some kind of warning. Instead, it hit more like a freight train. One moment I was upright; the next, the world tilted violently, and I barely had time to register the damp grass before my face made contact, slamming into it.


    My body had become lead, and it suddenly hurt to breathe. Monty¡¯s earlier grip had done a number on my ribs and now my body, which was now in the process of reshaping my bones, only made it worse.


    <i>Oh God, I am dying.</i>


    I could feel the strain of the transformation grinding through me, my body trying to shift back to human.  The wolf present must¡¯ve prevented the process from occurring while I was still in trouble. But now it was trying to make up for lost time.


    No wonder she¡¯d wanted out: this was unbearable.


    Every muscle burned, caught in a losing battle, trying to force my body to change, but not quite having the strength to do it. Like trying to lift a weight that was just beyond your limits: where success could only be achieved at the cost of severe injury.


    I needed it to get my body to stop, to relax, but I had no idea how to tell it to stand down. Yet, if I didn¡¯t get to settle down, I¡¯d probably start having seizures or something equally unpleasant


    I groaned, the image of the wolf vivid in my mind¡ªcurled up and snoring. She¡¯d abandoned me to suffer.


    ¡°Wake up,¡± I growled. ¡°Don¡¯t just leave me like this.¡±


    Nothing.


    ¡°Get up and help me!¡± I shoved the command toward her, my frustration sharpening the edges of the thought.


    Her response was swift¡ªa mental snap. A sharp pain that was rather muted, give the circumstances: just one little agony to add to a heaping pile.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me,¡± I hissed through gritted teeth, letting my head drop back against the grass.


    Every inch of my body trembled, as if every muscle was trying to pull itself apart. Which, I suppose, was what they did normally during a transformation. But now the process lacked¡ªfor want of a better word¡ªthe moon¡¯s magic, and the process had gotten all gummed up.


    I managed to roll onto my back, panting, and stared up at the sky, my vision becoming watery. Monty, oblivious to my suffering, slithered into a more comfortable position, basking in the sun atop my mane. It wasn¡¯t a basket of velvet pillows by any stretch of the imagination, but it was apparently sufficient.


    Meanwhile, I was actively trying not to die from my first attempt at a midday transformation.


    But, hey, at least one of us was happy.


    Testing an idea, I let go of my mind¡¯s metaphorical wheel, as I had the night before when I let the wolf have the controls. But now, without her there to take over, the car just coasted. No one to direct anything¡ªjust the painful inertia staying the course.


    It also occurred to me that if my life was truly in danger, the wolf would¡¯ve stepped in, just like she had when Monty tried to eat me. She probably knew this process¡ªpainful as it was¡ªwas more or less foolproof and opted to let me suffer through it on my own¡ª<i>the bitch</i>.


    I lay there in the grass, blinded by the noon day sun, willing my body to wind down. The spasms and twisting slowly ebbed, though the ache continued to linger. It seemed like the effort required to transform was tied to the act itself¡ªthe reshaping of bone and muscle¡ªbut not in maintaining the form once it was achieved. That once things were settled into place, they could stay that way.


    But that only begged more questions. Such as: How did my body decide which form to take?


    I¡¯d never consciously willed myself back into a human shape after a night under the moon. It just... happened. Initially, my thought had been that my body would revert to human, my default form, once the supernatural force behind the transformations ebbed¡ªafter the moon set. Just like in every werewolf movie.


    But the fact that I now found myself more or less stuck as a werewolf seemed to contradict that hypothesis. Energy, will, or something, was required to transform my body from one form to another.


    It wasn''t conscious thought, that was for sure. Otherwise, I¡¯d have found myself stuck as a wolf after every full moon. Perhaps, the form I took was dependent on the identity of the one behind the wheel. When I believed myself human, my body worked to return to that state. When the wolf took over, everything shifted to match her. This half-way form being the result when we both were behind the wheel¡ªbe it through our combined effort or refusal to let go.


    Whichever the case, the wolf seemed to have a more intuitive, or perhaps instinctual, understanding of this process. Not surprising considering that she was basically a manifestation of my curse: the other side of the coin. As for me, the process was an uphill battle. I didn¡¯t know shit about what I was doing.


    My chest rose and fell as I stared at my clawed hands, imagining them as mine¡ªnot foreign, not wrong, just part of me. Assuming the identity hypothesis held, then, if I wanted to move forward, I¡¯d have to accept this halfway form as who I was.


    At least for now.


    Slowly, I tried convincing myself that my pawed feet and furred limbs were natural, something that belonged to me. There was no need to change into something else.


    And, it seemed to be working¡ªuntil a thought stopped me cold.


    What if I convinced myself too well?


    What if I truly believed I wasn¡¯t human anymore? Would I ever be able to change back?


    Panic flared in my chest, and with it, the shifting began again. Bones ground against each other, and my body protested with a sharp, splitting pain.


    ¡°Dammit,¡± I hissed, frustrated at my own subconscious. ¡°Get it together.¡±


    I took a steadying breath, forcing the panic down. People wore masks all the time, didn¡¯t they? Every day, I clocked in at the Moxy, smiled at customers I didn¡¯t care about, and played the part of the perfect employee. Once you joined the workforce, pretending to be someone you weren¡¯t was something ground into you, eventually becoming second nature.


    So why would pretending to be that which goes bump in the night be any different?


    If I needed to play a role to get through the day, then that was fine. I could be AJ, an accountant in wolf-clothes, as long as needed to.


    The spasms subsided, and my body settled. Fur still clung stubbornly to my skin, my claws hadn¡¯t receded in the slightest. Nor did I need a mirror to know my face still sported a muzzle and sharp teeth. This was now my natural state, the way I was meant to be¡­ for the time being.


    Pushing myself to sit upright, I tested a tentative stretch. My joints ached, but they held steady. Touching my snout, I ran a claw over my elongated teeth. A wolf-mask for my wolf-clothes.


    My attention snapped to the sound of the backdoor creaking open, followed by the sounds of dozens of paws clicking excitedly across the porch. Clearly, Coy had entered the house and decided to let his fellow dogs out. Moments later I was being swarmed by all the dogs, their cold noses prodding me from every angle. It wasn¡¯t clear to me what they found so interesting about my current state. I mean, they had already seen me as a wolf before. But, perhaps, I was covered with sufficiently new and novel smells to find entertaining.


    I was like a beauty catalogue for dogs, the ones with the peel-able sample tabs that let you smell the new perfumes.


    In today''s issue, featuring AJ, Wolf Accountant, we have: Dirt, Grass, and Chlorinated Pool Water.


    The dogs sniffed and nudged, tails wagging wildly, and I just sat there, too sore to move. Like the day before, their emotions hit me like a tidal wave¡ªcuriosity, joy, and a chaotic energy that made my head spin. At first I tried to resist the feelings, as I had yesterday, but then I remembered I was supposed to play the role of wolf.


    <i>Let the emotions flow through you¡ªjoin the Dog Side.</i>


    What was the worst that could happen? That I get the zoomies?


    I took a deep inhale, imagining myself tensing up, then exhaled slowly, and imagined my body relaxing. Not the most sophisticated form of meditation, but it often did the trick for me. My body followed my mind, and I felt myself loosening up. Which, in turn, allowed me to open up to the cacophony of the dogs¡¯ thoughts.


    I would say that the results were made somewhat lackluster by the soreness and fatigue I was experiencing in the moment. What filled me would be best described as an overwhelming giddiness followed by an impulsive desire to run in circles, roll on the ground, and play a game of tag¡ªor just chase something. However, when I tried to act on this instinct, I was painfully reminded that I was in no shape to do either of these things. Save for perhaps rolling on the ground.


    What was more noteworthy was the wolf¡¯s response to the sudden surge of emotion. The wolf, who¡¯d been quietly napping, was taken by surprise as the wave of feeling  crashed into her. I could feel the abrupt jolt of her waking in panic¡ªas if woken by an airhorn. Confusion and enraged, she was a sleeping dog that I didn¡¯t let lie.


    She rushed to the forefront of my mind, in full attack mode, only to find the driver seat empty. No threat. No danger. Just false alarm and a wheel rocking back and forth on its own accord, while I did much the same in the grass.


    With a huff, and what I could only describe as a sense of parental disapproval, as if I were the unruly pup in this situation, the wolf once again retreated to the back of my mind and curled up.


    <i>Hey, you made me do this</i>, I thought at her, to which she didn¡¯t dignify a response.


    Monty tightened around my neck, and I suddenly remembered why I¡¯d rushed home in the first place. Fighting through the sensory overload, I dragged myself to my feet, commanding the dogs to give me some space. They didn¡¯t entirely listen, but they let me shuffle past them, their noses still twitching as they followed.


    Inside, I made my way to Monty¡¯s enclosure. She coiled around my arm as I unwound Monty from my neck, but slid off easily as I set her into her sunning basket.


    ¡°Time to relax,¡± I said, as I slowly buried her with the pillows. She poked out her head, tongue flickering, and settled in.


    ¡°One more down,¡± I muttered, running a clawed hand through my matted mane. The chlorine from the pool was making my skin itch. Along with the dirt, twigs, and leaves stuck in my fur, the feeling was becoming unbearable, making me uncomfortable in my own skin¡ªand pelt.


    On top of that, my ribs continued to throbbed.


    Human or not, I needed a shower.


    When I glanced at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and winced. My fur was stiff and patchy, caked with grass and grime, and my damp clothes clung to me like a second skin. I looked at my legs and mourned the wasted effort I spent this morning trying to shave them. I¡¯d need hedge-trimmers now.


    Learning from my past mistakes, I made sure that I had a towel ready, and I also brought my clothes from the dryer too. Once I was showered and in clean clothes, perhaps I¡¯d be in a better headspace to try shifting back again. Hopefully, I could figure this out before JT came back. Explaining to him why the Big Bad Wolf was in his sister¡¯s house, and how it had lost her dog, was not a conversation I wished to engage in.


    The sooner I figured out how to get out of my wolf-clothes, the sooner I could head into town and find Boden.


    After a minute of shepherding the dogs that had followed me into the bathroom back out into the hall, I closed the door and disrobed. Sure enough, even under my clothing I was covered in a thick pelt. Not a single square itch of skin was spared. Nor was the tattoo on my back visible at all.


    One problem at a time, I suppose.


    I decided I had time for one more experiment. Sitting onto the rim of the tub, I inhaled and exhaled, performing my standard breathing exercises and tried to focus on, well, being human. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine myself as normal AJ again, visualizing my normal hands, feet with toes, and smooth, furless skin.


    At some point I must have blacked out from the strain.


    It was hard to tell since my eyes were closed, but I was pretty sure I¡¯d passed out. I¡¯d been sitting in one moment, and, in the next, I was in the tub being greeted with a pounding headache. It appeared that I''d fallen backward and smacked my noggin on the other side of the tub.


    Emma, Rosie, and Annie were also in the tub with me, licking my face in an attempt to resuscitate me. Maggie leaned over the edge, her eyes filled with concern, while the rest of the pack crowded into the bathroom. I felt a tug on my tail and groggily reached for it, only to pull up the terrier from earlier.


    ¡°How¡¯d you get in here?¡± I growled. ¡°Coy, did you leave the door open?¡±


    Coy huffed innocently, but we both knew he wasn¡¯t fooling anyone.


    Bracing myself to stand to get up, I tried to reach for the edge of the tub, grabbing the shower knob instead. An icy blast of water shot out, soaking me and the dogs in one cold sweep.


    The tub erupted into barks and yips as the dogs scrambled to escape. I waved them out, herding them through the doorway.


    ¡°All of you, out! And someone keep an eye on that little menace,¡± I said, pointing at the terrier who, at some point, seemed to have ingratiated themself amongst the other dogs¡ªjust one of the pack now.


    The water heated up as I stepped under the spray, only to immediately crank the temperature way down. Normally, I preferred my showers just a few degrees below scalding, but now the only temperature I could tolerate would¡¯ve left regular me freezing her ass off. New body, new preferences, it seemed. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    If saving on the electric bill was a silvering lining of lycanthropy, I¡¯d take whatever I could get.


    In hindsight, I should¡¯ve brushed before bathing. Loose fur accumulated about the drain with astonishing regularity, and I had a lot of it. Each time I thought I was done, it wasn¡¯t more than mere moments that another wad of fur built itself up and blocked the flow.


    Then came the debate over shampoo and conditioner. Sandy¡¯s supply was the same Garnier Fructis she¡¯d stocked for JT, but it occurred to me that human shampoo would irritate a dog''s skin¡ªdidn''t want to make myself itchier. But then again, I wasn¡¯t technically a dog¡ªeven though I may be suffering from similar characteristics. Ultimately, I decided that, if I was going to be hairy from head to foot, I might as well make hair silky smooth.


    Not exactly L¡¯Or¨¦al, but, baby, I was worth it.


    My thick coat devoured as much shampoo as I could scrub in it. The shower had one of those removable heads, which made rinsing more manageable and kept water out of my ears. That, I learned quickly, was an unexpectedly miserable sensation. Water in my human ears wasn¡¯t all that pleasant either, but it paled in comparison. With my ear now large, and more sensitive, the sensation was akin to having an the tips of a stethoscope shoved down your ear canal while the other end was used as a tiny drum.


    No wonder dogs hated baths so much.


    By the time I finished shampooing myself, I¡¯d emptied the bottle, and the drain was entirely clogged.


    The conditioner didn¡¯t last much longer.


    So, all-in-all, I wouldn¡¯t say lycanthropy was all that economic in terms of bathing. Sure, I might save on heating costs, but I¡¯d blow it all on shampoo and conditioner. Not to mention it¡¯d be hell on the plumbing.


    Next came drying off. I¡¯d remembered a towel this time, but it was woefully inadequate for my soggy self. I was certain that my pelt held more water than a single towel could handle. Sandy kept a hairdryer in the bathroom drawer I could use, though I suspected I¡¯d need a leaf blower to do the job right.


    Still, it was worth a shot.


    As I fanned myself with the dryer, an odd itch started crawling down my spine. It wasn¡¯t a normal itch that you could scratch¡ªmore like the urge to sneeze. It built slowly, growing stronger by the second.


    Before I could figure out what was happening, my body acted on its own.


    A full-body shake rippled through me, starting at my head and traveling all the way to my tail.


    Water sprayed in every direction, drenching the walls, floor, ceiling, and mirror.


    Dizzy and disoriented, I staggered back, grabbing the sink to steady myself.


    When the world stopped spinning, I surveyed the disaster.


    Strands of dark, wet fur clung to every surface, in stark contrast with the pale bathroom tiles.


    I wiped a patch of mirror clean and stared at my reflection.


    My fur stuck out in wild tufts, like I¡¯d stuck a finger in an outlet.


    All that left was toweling off my legs¡ªwhich was a more manageable process compared to my entire body. But, as expedient as my shake-off had been, once you factored in the clean-up, I wasn¡¯t saving that much time after all.


    Next time I¡¯d by sure to stay in the shower.


    Even better, I¡¯d left my change of clothes on the sink countertop, and they¡¯d gotten a thorough coating of... well... me. Even if I managed to return to human form, the smell of wet dog was going to haunt me for days to come.


    After brushing and blow-drying myself as best I could, I made a mental note to buy a dog brush to the growing list of things I either need to buy, or compensate Sandy for. I''d broken most the teeth off her comb, and was now using a brush that was all too small to use on my entire body.


    While I was sure Sandy had several dog brushes lying around, god knew there was no way I was sharing one with another dog. I had standards.


    Cracking the bathroom door, I peeked out to make sure JT wasn¡¯t home yet, then darted into the guest room.


    It looked exactly how I¡¯d left it this morning: a mess of blankets and pillows strewn across the floor. And, in the middle of it sat a garden gnome, its red hat bearing deep teeth marks where it had been used as a chew toy.


    My chew toy.


    Well, not by me, obviously, but by the wolf in me. She¡¯d picked it up at some point¡ªa little souvenir from her recent nighttime escapade. And though I could recall much of the previous night, for the life of me, I couldn¡¯t recall which yard she¡¯d stolen it from; the tracks we¡¯d followed led through half a dozen suburban neighborhoods, with countless yards. Any of which might have once been home to a now missing garden gnome.


    A mystery best left unsolved.


    I turned my attention to the act of dressing, or lack there of.


    My tail made putting on underwear awkward but still manageable. Jeans, however, were a no-go. Technically, I could wear them like an early-2000s rapper, sagging them low enough to accommodate the tail. But that wasn¡¯t my style.


    Fortunately, I¡¯d spotted a pair of JT¡¯s scrubs in the laundry room. Baggy, soft, and with plenty of leg space, they¡¯d work much like sweatpants and had enough room to accommodate a tail. I¡¯d already been caught wearing Sandy¡¯s clothes by JT, so I might as well go for broke.


    Moving to the upstairs, I wrestled with my sports bra, which was much tighter than usual thanks to my new¡ªfluffier¡ªphysique. With my ribs still sore from Monty¡¯s scaly embrace, it made moving, and breathing, rather unpleasant, and I eventually gave up on it. But going half-commando was still better than full-commando..


    At least my turtleneck went on easily enough, though my fur puffed out from the cuffs and collar, making it look like I was wearing a fur-lined sweater.


    Bottomless, I made my way back to the laundry room to find JT¡¯s pants and I sniffed them to... you know... make sure they were clean. Once back in the guestroom I pulled on JT¡¯s scrubs to complete my ensemble.


    I stepped back and took in the full picture in the mirror.


    The sight was enough to make a grown woman cry.


    But, I was cleaned and clothed, so I seated myself on the floor. It was time for another try at transforming myself.


    Making sure I was close enough to hit my head against this time. I decided that focusing solely on my feet, and nothing else. The idea was that this might reduce the strain into something more bite-sized that I could handle. If I could just make them human-enough to hide in a pair of shoes, I¡¯d be good to go.


    Pain lanced through my legs as my toes started to shift, bones popping in protest. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced the transformation to continue, imagining myself as a werewolf that could wear sneakers¡ªa wolf in street clothes. The sensation of my bone and muscle reshaping was not unlike how I¡¯d imagine having legs turned to paste under the wheels of a steam roller would be. Perhaps, over time, I¡¯d get desensitized to the sensation, but right now, I could only tolerate it for barely a half-minute.


    When I opened my eyes to observe my progress, I was dismayed to see that, while my feet were a little more human-like than before, moving them further into the territory of Uncanny Valley, they were still clearly the feet of a werewolf. Or a wolf-like human. Or, perhaps, a mascot.


    You could go either way.


    More importantly, they were still inadequate for wearing shoes, except for, maybe, rain boots.


    When I tried to stand, I immediately crumpled back to the floor.


    My feet felt like I¡¯d run them over broken glass barefoot: not unlike the pins and needles you get when your legs fall asleep, but cranked up to eleven. While my half-assed transformation hadn¡¯t changed my feet¡¯s outward appearance all that much, it had done a number on their internal wiring.


    Apparently, I could hobble myself.


    I rolled onto my back, clutching my feet, stringing together lines of profanity that would surely demonetize any Youtube video.


    ¡°Having difficulties, are we?¡±


    The voice, smooth and sardonic, came from the desk behind me.


    My head snapped toward the desk. There sat Solomon, paws tucked neatly under him, his tail flicking lazily.


    ¡°Where the hell have you been?¡± I growled, sitting upright.


    He stretched, his back arching and claws extending. ¡°I don¡¯t see how that¡¯s relevant.¡± he said, as he began to lick his paw.


    ¡°I¡¯m in this mess because of you.¡± I glared up at the cat, all the while still rubbing my feet to get the prickling to stop.


    ¡°Me?¡± His ears twitched. ¡°Whatever did I do? Besides, perhaps, tell you what you should have already known?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that bullshit. You withheld information and let me get roped into walking the dog after the moon rose. That¡¯s why so many familiars went missing.¡± I felt myself growling, a low rubble in my chest, and was surprised to realize that I was the one doing it, not the wolf. She was still curled up in the back of my mind.


    No, all the wolfing around now was all me.


    The longer I was in my wolf-clothes, the more they seemed to fit.


    Solomon began rubbing his face with his paw, his movements unhurried. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call wandering around <i>missing</i>. They are free spirited creatures after all.¡± Solomon continued grooming himself slowly, methodically. Meanwhile I continued to glare at him.


    Eventually, he returned my look.


    ¡°You¡¯re also assuming I¡¯m under any obligation to help you. That is not the case. And, if fact, you could say I¡¯ve only ever been altruistic toward you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± I reply, rolling my eyes. ¡°Pray tell. What altruism do you plan to subject me to now?¡±


    ¡°The presence of my company.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re shitting me.¡±


    Solomon yawned, his teeth flashing. Then, he stood, stretched, and hopped over to the bed where he rolled onto his side like a cat inviting you to rub its belly. But his placement was just out of reach, as if to taunt me.


    ¡°Do continue,¡± he drawled, his voice thick with mock encouragement. ¡°I won¡¯t get in your way.¡±


    I clenched my fists, forcing myself to focus on my feet again. If I could just manage this small thing¡ªif I could make them usable, enough to stand up and slap a cat¡ªI¡¯d call it a win.


    The sensation in my feet lessened, becoming bearable even, but I couldn¡¯t seem to make much if any progress on their appearance. I could feel my body¡¯s desire to change¡ªmy desire to change¡ªbut there seemed to be a wall I was pushing up against that I couldn¡¯t break through.


    From the corner of my eye, Solomon stretched languidly, his movements slow and deliberate, ending with a theatrical yawn.


    ¡°Fine!¡± I snapped, my patience unraveling. ¡°I could use your help with this. That¡¯s why you¡¯re here, right? To provide me with wisdom or instruction?¡±


    His whiskers twitched with what I could only interpret as amusement.


    ¡°I think you misunderstand my reason for being here,¡± he said.


    I glared up at him, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Then why the hell are you here?¡±


    ¡°Company, as I said. That, and I¡¯m waiting for you to finish these silly exercises,¡± he said, matter-of-factually. ¡°It¡¯s time for lunch, you see, and I¡¯m feeling rather peckish. Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I said flatly.


    The thought of food churned my stomach. Images of the partially eaten buck flashed through my mind, and any appetite I might have mustered vanished.


    ¡°Even if that was the case, you can¡¯t neglect the needs of your charges,¡± Solomon said, his voice pointed, a subtle edge in his tone.


    I reached for my purse and dug out my phone, sighing when I saw the time. It was well past noon, and that meant it was time to feed the animals. Testing my feet, which had dulled slightly in their sensitivity, I stood shakily and grabbed JT¡¯s checklist. I left my opened purse onto the desk, next to the garden gnome.


    Skipping this chore wasn¡¯t an option. After all the effort I¡¯d gone through to herd the familiars back home, the last thing I needed was for the animals to turn on me because I didn¡¯t feed them. Phin and Ferb were hell on wheels when they were hungry, and the parliament of owls was already plotting a coup. One more deviation in the schedule would only fan the fires¡ªI could feel it.


    The reptiles¡ªCassy and Camelia included¡ªwere blissfully indifferent to my werewolf form, focused entirely on their meals. The guinea pigs, equally unconcerned, twitched their noses eagerly as I distributed leafy greens. The fish were likewise more fixated only on the food, but the ducks around the Koi pond were spooked by my appearance. They flew a short distance away, honking agitatedly all the while, allowing me to leave out their frozen peas without my fingers getting assaulted.


    Another silver-lining when you thought about it.


    Then there were Phin and Ferb.


    ¡°Yip-yip!¡± Phin squawked, his call echoing eerily like an overexcited terrier.


    ¡°Yap-yap!¡± Ferb chimed in, the two birds bouncing on their perches. Together they sounded part dog, part Sesame Street Martian.


    My hand settled down on a Ziploc bag of pumpkin seeds, as I watched them warily. ¡°Alright, what¡¯s this about?¡±


    ¡°Yip-yip-yip!¡± Phin barked louder, his head bobbing as though urging me toward a particular shelf.


    ¡°Yap-yap-yap-yap!¡± Ferb¡¯s cries slowed as I moved away, only to speed up as I drew nearer again.


    Trying to piece together their little game, my first thought was that it was some bastardization of Hotter-Colder. But, as the minutes ticked by, their barking cues only sent me in circles. Either the two of them weren¡¯t on the same page, or they were screwing with me.


    Eventually, their antics defeated my patience.


    ¡°Alright, enough!¡± I snapped, turning on them. ¡°Make up your mind, or you¡¯re getting the trail mix.¡±


    The two birds howled in protest, so I proceeded to take out the trail mix I¡¯d made from them earlier today, measuring it out into two small dishes. Phin and Ferb descend the trail mix greedily, their playful yips replaced by their suggestive moaning, and I realized that the feathery imbeciles had in fact been trolling me the whole time.


    When I returned to the kitchen, the door to the garage was wide open, and every dog in the house had gathered inside, tails wagging and eyes locked on the rows of bowls lined along the floor. Coy, master of doors, the smug instigator of chao, sat at the bottom of the stairs his body wiggling in anticipation.


    Maggie and Murray sat patiently near the threshold, their disciplined presence a stark contrast to the eager crowd in the garage beyond. The barking began the moment I hefted the bag of kibble, its contents shaking, its packing crinkling. The sea of fur parted as I approached, dogs shifting aside to make way¡ªall except for one.


    The Jack Russell from earlier planted themself squarely in my path, their tiny body taut with defiance, teeth bared in a soft growl.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it,¡± I said, pointing a clawed finger at them. ¡°Bite my tail again, and you¡¯ll get nothing to eat.¡±


    I rattled the bag of kibble for emphasis. ¡°You¡¯d like something to eat, right?¡±


    The terrier tilted their head, her growl subsiding as she appeared to weigh their options. Food or tail. Which was more deserving of their bite.


    Hunger won out.


    ¡°Good call,¡± I muttered. ¡°Now, what¡¯s your name? Every menace needs a name.¡±


    I reached out with my thoughts, projecting the question. <i>Her</i> response came back instantly, a simple, sharp sound: <i>Skeet</i><b>.</b>


    ¡°Skeet? Weird name for a dog,¡± I said. Though, the more I thought about it the name, the more appropriate it felt, because I could see myself using her for target practice.


    With Skeet watching intently, I worked my way through the pack alphabetically, filling bowls with methodical precision. When I reached Boden¡¯s bowl, my hand hesitated. He was still somewhere out there, roaming Charleston, and the thought gnawed at me.


    I didn¡¯t have time to mope. Not while I was stuck in wolf-clothes, barely able to function. Sure, I could wait for moonrise and try to convince the wolf to take over and search for Boden, but that would depend on her cooperation¡ªand the risk of waking up in someone¡¯s yard again wasn¡¯t exactly high on my list of desirable outcomes.


    Skeet¡¯s growls grew louder as I finally reached the S¡¯s. She was growing impatient and I could sense her thoughts returning to my tail. I laid Boden¡¯s bowl, a massive dish for one so tiny, in front of her and filled it a similar amount to Annie¡¯s bowl¡ªthe two dogs appeared roughly the same weight.


    ¡°Guests eat first,¡± I said as I set her bowl down. ¡°But you¡¯re not a guest¡ªyou¡¯re a menace.¡±


    I went to prepare the wet food for Maggie and Murray, and my stomach growled involuntarily as I opened the cans. These were Purina Pro Plan: Beef and Rice Entrees, and despite being nauseated by the idea of craving dog food, I nonetheless felt a ravenous hunger.


    So, I did have an appetite after all.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time something like this had happened. During full moons, I¡¯d often fed the wolf canned dog food to keep her satiated¡ªa practice I tolerated only because I was usually drunk at the time. But now? Sober, in broad daylight, and smelling dog food like it was fine cuisine? The revulsion hit harder.


    I was supposed to be vegetarian, damn it, and I was cheating on my commitment with dog food.


    Fortunately, I had a distraction. I turned to the next name on JT¡¯s list. I¡¯d been saving the best¡ªand worst¡ªfor last.


    Carl.


    Pulling a cafeteria tray from the cabinet, I began assembling his meal with care: boiled eggs, cut vegetables, and grapes. No banana chips. Before leaving the kitchen, I double-checked my pockets to ensure they were empty. Carl didn¡¯t need any extra opportunities to make my life miserable.


    Balancing the tray, I strode down the hall and kicked open his door.


    ¡°Time to eat, Carl!¡±


    The monkey¡¯s scream was immediate and satisfying. He¡¯d been lounging on his little pink swing, rocking contentedly, but my sudden arrival, and wolfish appearance, sent him flying from his seat into the corner of his enclosure. Now he huddled there, cowering in wide-eyed terror.


    Oh, how the mighty have fallen.


    ¡°Relax, Carl,¡± I said, sliding the tray through the narrow opening and grinning just wide enough to show him all my teeth. ¡°I''m not going to eat you. At least, not like this¡ªyou¡¯re just skin and bone.¡±


    I crouched to his level, resting my chin on the edge of the enclosure, my nose against the bar.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got to fatten you up first, Carl.¡±


    Carl didn¡¯t move. His beady eyes flicked between me and the food, his tiny hands twitching.


    ¡°Oh, Carl,¡± I said, making my voice as saccharin as I could manage, ¡°you worry too much. If you just behave, I¡¯ll have no reason to eat you. No misbehaving. Simple as that.¡±


    Still the monkey didn¡¯t move towards his food. That was fine. All part of the plan.


    I pointed to the tray. ¡°Don¡¯t forget¡ªnot finishing your food counts as misbehaving.¡±


    The gears in his head were now visibly turning, his small brain trying to process the catch-22 he¡¯d been saddled with. But that was the name of that game: human AJ was good cop, and wolf AJ was bad cop. I wanted to give Carl a reason to behave for good AJ. And, since I was stuck in my wolf-clothes, there was no better time to introduce Carl to the big bag future consequence of his actions.


    His gaze darted from me to the tray and back again, a trapped animal debating whether the devil it knew was better than the one it didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Go on, Carl,¡± I said, making my voice suddenly cold. ¡°Eat. Up.¡±


    I stood back, crossing my arms and fixing him with a steady, unblinking stare. Unnerving the little dude in my current appearance didn¡¯t take much effort. It was a less-is-more sort of thing: stand there, let the natural intimidation of a werewolf in full fur and fangs do the work.


    Carl finally caved, hopping up to the tray and shoving food into his mouth at an alarming pace. His tiny hands darted between the tray and his face, stuffing grapes and vegetables until his cheeks bulged.


    For a moment, guilt flickered at the edges of my mind. Then I remembered how he¡¯d tried to shoot me last night. In the ass. With my gun.


    So, yeah¡ªCarl deserved a little indigestion.


    He finished quickly, burping slightly as he hopped back onto his perch.


    ¡°Very good, Carl,¡± I said, clapping my hands together in mock approval. I retrieved the tray with a flourish. ¡°Be good, now. I¡¯ll be back <i>soon</i>.¡±


    Normally, tormenting small animals was a definitive sociopathic behavior. But this was different. I was helping Carl. Whether through tough love or sheer terror, I¡¯d teach him to behave¡ªand then maybe teach him a little gun safety while I was at it, for good measure.


    The sound of clanging metal greeted me as I returned to the kitchen.


    There was Solomon, perched on the table, casually rattling a small bowl with his paw.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you get that?¡± I asked, narrowing my eyes as Solomon batted the small bowl.


    ¡°From the cabinet. Obviously.¡±


    ¡°You know we don¡¯t have cat food.¡±


    ¡°You do, however, have canned salmon,¡± he replied, his voice maddeningly even. ¡°It¡¯s in the pantry, below the dried lentils. I request a can.¡±


    I crossed my arms. ¡°Well, Mr. Know-It-All, seems like you can handle things yourself.¡±


    He flicked his tail with exaggerated nonchalance. ¡°And you may have noticed that I lack opposable thumbs. I require your assistance.¡±


    ¡°How is it that you can look so much like a cat but act like such an asshole?¡±


    ¡°Practice.¡±


    With a sigh, I headed to the pantry. Sure enough, the salmon was exactly where he said it would be.


    ¡°Grab one of those Purinas while you¡¯re at it,¡± he called after me, his tone as casual as someone ordering at a drive-thru.


    I plucked a can of dog food¡ªanother beef and rice¡ªfrom the shelf, muttering, ¡°What, you in the mood for surf and turf?¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond.


    Cracking open the salmon, I poured the brine into the sink before pulling the lid the rest of the way off. When I went to open the Purina, Solomon raised a paw.


    ¡°Just the salmon for me, if you please.¡±


    <i>Then why the hell did you make me grab the Purina?</i> I thought but bit my tongue.


    I scooped the salmon into the bowl with a fork and began breaking the chunks with the fork.


    ¡°That will be sufficient,¡± he said, and I placed the bowl in front of him. He leaned in to eat the salmon with deliberate, dainty bites.


    I slumped into the chair across from him, arms crossed, watching as he slowly worked his way through the bowl, but less halfway through, I broke.


    ¡°So, what is it you actually want? Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re just here for food. You prompted me to feed the animals, and you made me grab that extra can on purpose. So, out with it.¡±


    He kept eating, his pace unchanged, chewing with the kind of calm that made my teeth grind. When he finally paused, he licked his mouth, then his paw, swiping it over his face in slow, deliberate strokes.


    <i>So many animals to throttle, yet so little time.</i>


    At last, Solomon looked up, his amber eyes meeting mine with unnerving intensity.


    ¡°Tell me, when was the last time you ate?¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What does that have to do with anything?¡±


    ¡°It has everything to do with everything.¡± His gaze drilled into me. ¡°So? When?¡±


    ¡°Ugh...¡±


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°A bit of that deer you and your pack were snacking on, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°What? No! I¡¯ve had breakfast.¡±


    ¡°And that was?¡±


    ¡°...Coffee and a donut,¡± I muttered.


    His flat stare was scorching, the kind of look you¡¯d give an idiot child.


    ¡°Ah, yes. Just what every growing lycanthrope needs. Flour and sugar.¡±


    I bristled. ¡°Look, I haven¡¯t had an appetite since last night, alright? I¡¯m vegetarian¡ªI don¡¯t like meat. And after... you know¡­ the deer. I haven¡¯t felt like eating.¡±


    ¡°And what about your other half? Your Little Miss Moody?¡± He gestured lazily with a paw, his tone dripping with faux concern. ¡°I can¡¯t help but notice you¡¯re having a bit of a bad hair day. One wonders how you got yourself into this predicament.¡±


    I opened my mouth to argue but stopped. What could I say? That I was in this predicament because one of the familiars tried to eat me? That wasn¡¯t what Solomon was getting at, and I knew it. My stomach hadn¡¯t stopped growling since I¡¯d prepared Maggie and Murray¡¯s food.


    Solomon¡¯s ears flicked, his head tilting slightly. He¡¯d clearly heard it too.


    ¡°I assume you¡¯ve noticed a change in your appetite, ever since you acquired your¡­ passenger¡± Solomon said, breaking the silence with pointed calm. ¡°You could say you¡¯re eating for two. I wonder how your other half feels about you starving yourself.¡±


    ¡°So, what?¡± I asked, sitting up. ¡°She¡¯s being moody because she¡¯s hungry?¡±


    Solomon gave me a long, slow blink¡ªan ordinary cat mannerism made somehow condescending on a mug like his.


    ¡°I believe the term your generation uses is <i>hangry</i>. And I suspect you¡¯ve noticed that without the moon, your ability to shapeshift is more taxing than usual. Reshaping yourself takes strength, and, without the moon to guide you, that strength must come from somewhere. A different source."


    Solomon paused, as if giving me time to process, before continuing.


    "One, I might add, that you¡¯ve been neglecting due to your... less-than-robust dietary habits.¡±


    I sighed, the realization sinking in.


    ¡°So. What? I just need to eat something? That¡¯s it?"


    <i>Here, have a snickers</i>¡ª<i>you''re not yourself when you''re hungry.</i>


    ¡°Oh, sure,¡± he said, his tone growing more amused. ¡°You could nibble on some leafy greens, maybe toss in some tofu for protein. But you might consider this: wolves, like all dogs, are highly food-motivated. If you want her cooperation, might I suggest eating something she enjoys? Somehow, I don¡¯t think she¡¯ll be inspired by a kale salad.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± I muttered. ¡°And how exactly am I supposed to do that? I don¡¯t have time to go hunting again, and it¡¯s not like I can go shopping while looking like this. What am I supposed to¡ª¡±


    Solomon¡¯s head turned toward the counter behind me, and I followed his gaze to the can of dog food I¡¯d left out earlier.


    ¡°Oh,¡± I muttered. ¡°Right.¡±


    My stomach twisted, growling softly in betrayal.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you grab a fork and come join me?¡± Solomon said, turning back to his salmon, his voice positively dripping with smug satisfaction.


    <hr>


    I held the fork in midair, the chunk of beef and rice dripping in gravy hovering inches from my mouth. The wolf stirred in the back of my mind, her interest undeniable, but I stopped myself, clenching the utensil tightly.


    ¡°Your turn,¡± I muttered, projecting the smell of the food toward her like an offering.


    Her presence pressed closer, an eager tug at the forefront of my consciousness. She liked this game. Too much, if I were honest.


    Scattered across the table were three empty cans of wet dog food. My initial attempt to keep it at one had failed¡ªthe wolf knew she had leverage, and how to use it. My stomach growled in protest, not just from hunger, but from the absurdity of what I was doing.


    ¡°Stubborn mutt,¡± I muttered under my breath.


    The wolf didn¡¯t respond in words, but I felt the equivalent of an impatient huff¡ªa demand that I hold up my end of the deal. She wasn¡¯t taking the wheel without some incentive.


    The wolf¡¯s cravings bled into mine, making the idea of taking another bite... tolerable. And with my wolf-like sense still intact, the taste and smell was even bordering on decent.


    I gave in, sliding the chunk off the fork with my teeth. The wolf surged forward as I chewed, savoring the flavor I fed her.


    ¡°There,¡± I grumbled, swallowing. ¡°Happy now?¡±


    She didn¡¯t answer, but my fingers tingled, the claws softening and retracting as the skin shifted back to its human texture. The wolf always delivered, but the terms were clear: no food, no cooperation.


    I glanced at my hands¡ªnormal enough to pass as human, as long as no one got close enough to see that I wasn¡¯t wearing nail extensions. My feet, too, were human-shaped again and could be hidden within a pair of shoes. And, of course, there was my face, that was now back to normal and free of any unwanted hair¡ªI¡¯d eaten an entire extra can to get the wolf to help me with that.


    But, looking human didn¡¯t mean I was. I¡¯d negotiated for superficial changes¡ªthe visible parts of me. Beneath the skin, the beast still lurked.


    Beneath the clothes, fur galore.


    It was a decision made to conserve whatever energy was left, and to avoid further compromise¡ªI didn¡¯t want to eat more dog food than absolutely necessary.


    I could pass in public, as long as I didn¡¯t wear sandals or grin too wide for a photo.


    The fourth can sat unopened beside me, but my stomach churned at the thought of eating more, but the wolf poured her appetite into me and I found myself reaching for the can.


    ¡°You¡¯re worse than a loan shark,¡± I muttered, cracking it open. I caught myself sniffing. ¡°A loan wolf.¡±


    Objectively, it wasn¡¯t actually that bad. I still had the senses of the wolf, tongue included, and, with her in the seat next to me¡ªin the mental sense¡ªI had a direct link to her cravings and desires. She was enjoying the food, and, thus, so was I.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I sighed, spearing another chunk. ¡°But this is the last one.¡±


    The wolf pressed closer again, hunger laced with smug satisfaction, and we began to work our way through the last can. You know, once I learned to look past the fact I was eating dog food, I was just basically sharing a meal with my wolf. A simple act of communion that wasn''t half bad.


    Maybe I¡¯d judged the dog food too harshly.


    ¡°Should I be concerned?¡± came a voice from right beside me. I started, mid-swallow, and nearly choked. Coughing, I dropped the fork down and spun towards the voice.


    Nevermore¡ªhaving returned and entered the kitchen without my notice.


    ¡°It¡¯s not what it looks like,¡± I managed hastily, clearing my throat.


    He tilted his head, eyes glittering with amusement. ¡°Then what does it look like?¡±


    Damn it. He had me there.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I said, pushing the half-empty can aside. ¡°It¡¯s exactly what it looks like. But it¡¯s the only way I can get back to human form.¡±


    ¡°Surely,¡± he said, fluttering onto the table, ¡°there¡¯s a more elegant solution.¡±


    I waved a hand in the direction of the table¡¯s other end. ¡°Probably. But little mister Solomon here¡ªoh, come on!¡±


    My eyes darted around the room.


    The cat was gone.


    Again.


    ¡°He Batman¡¯d me.¡±


    Nevermore let out a low caw of intrigue. ¡°Solomon?¡±


    ¡°This cat,¡± I grumbled, scanning for any trace of him. ¡°He shows up to give me some backhanded advice, and then vanishes. I don¡¯t even know whose familiar he is. Sandy¡¯s? V¡¯s maybe? I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Sounds charming.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s a delight,¡± I muttered. As I looked around for Solomon, I couldn¡¯t find any trace of him. Even his bowl and can of salmon was gone. But I could still smell the salmon so I knew it wasn¡¯t all in my head. The prick had probably put them away simply to gaslight me.


    Nevermore¡¯s gaze fell on the remaining cans of dog food. ¡°So, four cans in. Tell me¡ªare you planning to make this a permanent addition to your diet?¡±


    I scowled. ¡°Wolves are very food-motivated,¡± I said flatly, parroting Solomon.


    ¡°And this was his idea?¡±


    ¡°Well, sort of.¡± I rubbed my temple, the truth only making it worse. ¡°He didn¡¯t say it <i>had</i> to be dog food. It was just... convenient.¡±


    Nevermore¡¯s feathers fluffed in mock astonishment. ¡°Convenient? You mean to tell me it didn¡¯t have to be dog food? You could¡¯ve made eggs? Sausage? Or, you know, <i>normal food</i>?¡±


    I blinked, then groaned. ¡°Do we even have that?¡±


    ¡°Did you check?¡±


    I dragged a hand down my face as the realization hit me. Solomon had played me. Or maybe it wasn¡¯t just a prank¡ªit felt a bit punitive. As if to say: <i>Eat properly, or eat dog food.</i>


    I set the half-empty can on the floor. The wolf protested, but, we''d already reach our end of terms.


    Coy was there a moment later to lap it up.


    Crossing my arms, I turned to Nevermore. ¡°Alright, enough with my dietary shaming. What¡¯s the update with the kids?¡±


    He preened his feathers, his tone taking on a theatrical flair. ¡°Ah, those little scamps. Quite the inquisitive bunch. First, I¡¯ve deduced how Monty ended up in their yard.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°Let me guess. Skeet.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re correct,¡± Nevermore said, his voice carrying a note of amusement. ¡°Our little terrier friend has a habit of, shall we say, acquisitions. Turtles, squirrels, snakes¡ªeven once brought home a skunk.¡± He tilted his head, feathers fluffing. ¡°And it wasn¡¯t even dead. A real stinker, you could say.¡±


    ¡°Fantastic,¡± I muttered. ¡°Where¡¯d she find Monty?¡±


    ¡°In the woods, I¡¯d imagine. We¡¯re not far from her yard if you cut straight through the trees.¡±


    I squinted at him. ¡°Okay, enough with the side tangent. You¡¯re being cagey. Tell me about the kids. Did you threaten them or not?¡±


    ¡°Oh perish that thought,¡± he said smoothly, hopping to the back of a chair. ¡°As I said, merely satiated their curiosity.¡±


    ¡°And that sounds dubious as all hell,¡± I said, arms still crossed. ¡°Explain.¡±


    He hesitated¡ªjust long enough to make me suspicious¡ªbefore tilting his head again. ¡°So, the sister turns out to be quite the negotiator. Kids these days¡ªnever been given so much sass from someone so young.¡±


    I stared at him, my patience wearing thin. ¡°Are you telling me you got strong-armed by a seven-year-old? What did they demand?¡±


    ¡°Parker is nine, thank you,¡± he corrected primly, ¡°and it was nothing unreasonable. I secured their promise never to show the video in exchange for... a small concession.¡±


    My stomach sank. ¡°What. Did. You. Do?¡±


    ¡°After the story I told them, they want to meet you,¡± he said airily. ¡°And the other animals. Hardly an outrageous request.¡±


    I gaped at him. ¡°That was your brilliant plan? What makes you think they¡¯ll actually keep their promise?¡±


    ¡°It was a magic promise,¡± he said, as if that explained everything.


    ¡°Oh, right. Magic. Of course.¡± I threw up my hands. ¡°That makes everything better. Did you make it gluten-free too?¡±


    ¡°Well, no wheat was involved. But, given our options, it was the best solution, if you ask me. And they said they¡¯d return the shoe you seemed to have left behind. Rather kind of them, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°Wonderful,¡± I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. Somehow, I knew this would come back to bite me. Every magical problem I¡¯d dealt with so far had tried to eat me, shoot me, or force me into public speaking. The sooner I could claw my way back to a normal life, the better.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to wash my mouth out." I pushed myself back from the table and stood up. "Thoroughly. Then we¡¯ll head into town to look for Boden. We¡¯ve wasted enough daylight as is.¡±


    As much as I hated this pet-sitting gig, I¡¯d signed up for it, and through hell or high water, I was going to see it through. Life could rob me of my apartment, my job, my smooth skin, and my dignity, but it couldn¡¯t take my work ethic. Even if lycanthropy stripped me of my humanity, that was the one thing that would remain.


    Sometimes human, sometimes wolf, but always the professional.


    As I turned to leave, Nevermore¡¯s voice followed me, dripping with amusement.


    ¡°Tell me¡ªdo you plan on keeping the tail?¡±


    Startled, I glanced over my shoulder.


    Sure enough, the fluffy appendage, which I''d completely forgotten about, had crept its way out of JT¡¯s scrubs and now swayed cheerfully behind me.


    ¡°Oh, goddamnit,¡± I groaned.

 Chapter 8:

    I pulled into the storage facility with Maggie and Nevermore, along with one addition passenger.


    Maggie sat in the passenger seat, the old German shepherd looking like a proper professional in her service vest. She watched the passing road and buildings with measured calm, her head swiveling slowly from side to side. Every now and then, she glanced up at me, as if checking in.


    Nevermore perched on the headrest behind me, shifting between disdainful silence and muttered complaints. His feathers fluffed occasionally in irritation as he side-eyed Coy, whose boundless energy was proving to be an ongoing trial for the raven.


    Coy, of course, was in the backseat, bouncing from one side of the car to the other. He¡¯d rolled down the window himself, tongue lolling as he leaned into the wind. Every time we came to a stop, he¡¯d hop out to investigate something that caught his eye¡ªor nose.


    The first half-dozen times he pulled this stunt, I panicked, slamming the brakes and scrambling out to track him down. But the second I got out, there he was¡ªalready back in the car, looking at me like <i>I</i> was the one being ridiculous. Eventually, I learned to just keep driving and let him come back on his own.


    Moving or not, Coy''s ability to return to the return the car did, if fact, bordered on the supernatural. He could be, quite literally, wherever he wanted to be.


    Needless to say, I hadn¡¯t planned on bringing him.


    Before leaving, I¡¯d gone through the trouble of laying down ground rules for the dogs while I was out. Coy¡ªespecially Coy¡ªhad received a detailed rundown of expectations.


    Which he promptly ignored.


    My backseat was empty when I reversed out of the driveway. Then, as soon as I shifted into drive, there was a faint <i>pop</i>¡ªand suddenly, there he was. Sitting nonchalantly, as if he¡¯d been there the entire time.


    Yesterday, this would¡¯ve sent me spiraling. Today, I just sighed.


    I had read more of Sandy¡¯s book, and now things made a little more sense. Coy, like Monty, Camellia, and so many of the other familiars, had his own magical... quirk. Which was to say, he wasn¡¯t bound by normal rules¡ªbe they the laws of society or physics.


    If Coy wanted to come along, he was coming. And there was naught I could do about it.


    So instead of fighting the inevitable, I went back inside, grabbed an extra service dog vest, and told him he¡¯d have to wear it if he wanted to join us. Out of spite, I slapped an <i>In Training</i> patch¡ªwhich I took for one of the smaller vests¡ªand stuck it beneath the embroidered <i>Service Dog</i> emblem. But, nonetheless, Coy wore it with the same smug satisfaction.


    He had won, and he knew it.


    Our first stop was my storage unit. The facility¡¯s narrow corridors of outdoor units stretched ahead as I navigated to the farthest edge of the lot, parking near the northern fence.


    Rolling down the windows, I killed the engine, letting the oppressive July heat sweep in like a smothering blanket. I''d bit hoping for a breeze, but no dice.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I said, unbuckling my seatbelt and pushing the door open. ¡°Here¡¯s the plan. I need to grab some clothes and emergency cash from my unit. Meanwhile, we¡¯ll check the tracks for Boden¡¯s scent. The CSX line runs right behind the truck service station next door, so we can kill two birds with one stone.¡±


    As fortune would have it, the storage facility where I¡¯d rented a unit was serendipitously positioned. The CSX line, after crossing the Ashley River at the drawbridge I¡¯d come across yesterday, cut a straight path through North Charleston, passing within a stone¡¯s throw of my unit.


    Nevermore ruffled his feathers and hopped closer to the open window. ¡°And whom would you have this bird stone?¡±


    I pointed to the chain-link fence, beyond which ran the Mark Clark Expressway. ¡°You and Coy are my trespassing team. I can¡¯t afford another charge on my record, so it¡¯s up to you two. Follow the road to the right¡ªit¡¯ll lead you straight to the tracks, about a hundred yards north. Have Coy start there and work your way back down towards the Ashley River until he picks up Boden¡¯s scent.¡±


    Nevermore¡¯s tone dripped with melodramatic skepticism. ¡°Let me ensure I understand. You expect me to monitor this mutt as we wander like vagabonds along the rails, while you root around your storage unit?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much,¡± I said. ¡°Just make sure Coy doesn¡¯t get too distracted or make trouble.¡±


    Coy pushed the back door open with his nose and hopped out. The second his paws hit the sunbaked asphalt, he yelped and bolted back into the car, tail tucked tight.


    ¡°Might want to avoid the pavement,¡± I said, biting back a smirk. ¡°It¡¯s a little warm out.¡±


    ¡°Hardly too tall an order,¡± Nevermore said with exaggerated dignity. ¡°Still, if you¡¯re delegating pet-sitting duty to me, I¡¯ll require a cut of your payment.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°What would you even do with money?¡±


    ¡°Buy shiny things,¡± he replied without hesitation.


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°Sure. Fine. You¡¯ve got a deal.¡±


    Nevermore preened. ¡°Excellent. Mr. Coy, shall we¡ªoh. Well, there he goes.¡±


    There was a faint pop. When I turned, Coy was gone, as if he¡¯d never been there at all.


    Nevermore tilted his head, bemusement almost palpable. ¡°Shall I follow him?¡±


    I sighed. I suppose my hopes had been too high that Coy would cooperate. ¡°No. Let him do his thing. Can¡¯t have both of you getting lost.¡±


    Sliding back into the driver¡¯s seat, I shut the door and leaned against the headrest. Nevermore fluttered to perch behind Maggie, his feathers ruffling as a breeze blew through the open window.


    "How do you suppose he does that?¡± Nevermore asked.


    ¡°I have no idea,¡± I muttered, restarting the engine. ¡°All I know is he can only do it when no one¡¯s looking¡ªlike some kind of Schr?dinger¡¯s dog.¡±


    ¡°Did Sandy¡¯s book offer any illumination on the matter?¡±


    ¡°Depends,¡± I said. ¡°Does ¡®wanders in the relics¡¯ mean anything to you?¡±


    Nevermore tilted his head. ¡°Under what context?¡±


    ¡°Umm,¡± I tried to recall the exact wording. ¡°Sandy wrote something about Coy in what I <i>think</i> was Latin. Or maybe it¡¯s just how her Arcanum looks to me. Either way, it said <i>Errat in Relicta</i>. Wanders in the Relics.¡±


    Nevermore straightened, his posture shifting. A glimmer of recognition sparked in his eyes. ¡°Ah, I see. You mistranslated¡ªor rather, it doesn¡¯t translate neatly. The phrase means ¡®Wanders in Abandon.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you mean <i>with </i>abandon?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Nevermore said, his tone betraying a faint note of satisfaction. ¡°¡®In Abandon.¡¯ It¡¯s not a state of mind; it¡¯s a place.¡± He paused thoughtfully. ¡°Though, I suppose one could argue it¡¯s also a state of mind. Philosophically speaking, of course.¡±


    I frowned, adjusting my grip on the steering wheel as I navigated a tight corner between the rows of storage units. ¡°And where exactly is this... Abandon?¡±


    Nevermore ruffled his feathers, settling himself like a professor preparing for a lecture. ¡°Not one place, precisely. <i>Abandon</i> is a catch-all term for many similar places. You¡¯re likely familiar with the concept¡ªit permeates mysticism, religion, and literature. The idea of an overlapping reality. Think of Lewis¡¯s Narnia, Lovecraft¡¯s Dreamlands, Alice and her Wonderland, Peter Pan and Neverland, or Riordan¡¯s Olympus.¡± He paused. ¡°Admittedly, Riordan¡¯s mythos is just repackaged Greek mythology¡ªbut why reinvent the wheel?¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°So you¡¯re saying the afterlife is a trope.¡±


    ¡°And one as old as time itself,¡± he replied airily. ¡°These realms¡ªcollectively called Abandon, at least in some circles¡ªare usually tied to physical geography, but not always. For our purposes, imagine the world as you know it¡ªthis material world, or <i>Sonder</i>, the term opposite to Abandon¡ªas the surface of a frozen lake. Everything you know is on top of the ice. Not the ice itself, but the surface, the snow, and everything that walks atop it. That is Sonder. Beneath it lies the water¡ªvast, dark, and deep. That¡¯s Abandon. Not separate mind you¡ªboth ice and snow are made of water¡ªbut rather an extension of this world. And most incorporeal beings¡ªghosts, spirits, demons¡ªare believed to dwell there.¡±


    I mulled that over as I pulled up to my storage unit. ¡°So... it¡¯s like the Upside Down?¡±


    Nevermore blinked. ¡°The what?¡±


    ¡°From <i>Stranger Things</i>. It¡¯s¡­ uh¡­ after your time.¡±


    He made a small huffing noise. ¡°Abandon is where Coy moves when he vanishes. He doesn¡¯t teleport¡ªhe steps through the ice and resurfaces elsewhere. It¡¯s efficient for short distances but not instantaneous¡ªhe still has to traverse the space. But because time and distance work differently there, it appears instantaneous to us.¡±


    ¡°Can he get lost?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t imagine he needs to go very deep. Think of him scooting along the underside of the ice.¡±


    ¡°The <i>Upside Down</i>,¡± I said smugly.


    Nevermore clicked his beak. ¡°Hmm. You know, that is rather clever term. I may steal it.¡±


    While I wouldn''t say I understood all of what Nevermore was telling, the concept itself wasn''t hard to grasp. I¡¯d already accepted that magic existed, so why would the concept of a magic plane of reality be any harder to swallow?


    I mean, I was talking to a bird, and I had a tail. My sense of disbelief wasn¡¯t so much <i>suspended</i> as <i>expelled</i>.


    ¡°Is staying there dangerous?¡± I asked.


    ¡°For extended periods, yes. Abandon isn¡¯t stable like the material world. It churns and shifts, like the sea. And like the sea, its depths hold things best left undisturbed.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Ever read Lovecraft?¡±


    I snickered. ¡°So, you¡¯re saying I could go ice-fishing for Cthulhu?¡±


    ¡°I imagine many have tried.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡±


    ¡°Again, have you read Lovecraft?¡± Nevermore¡¯s tone turned pointed. ¡°Fanciful though his works were, and a bit of a prick he was, that man was meticulous in his research into the occult.¡±


    ¡°Oh, and what about Poe?¡± I prodded playfully.


    Nevermore stiffened. ¡°I¡¯d rather not talk about Poe.¡±


    I pulled up to my storage unit, killing the engine and stepping out into the oppressive July heat. The sun baked the asphalt, and the humidity clung to me like a second skin.


    Leaning across the front seat, I popped open the glove box to fish out my keys. Maggie shifted to make room, then took the opportunity to sniff inside before landing a quick, opportunistic lick on my ear. A professional or not, Maggie was still a licker.


    ¡°Ugh¡ªMaggie!¡± I wiped at the wet spot, but she looked entirely unrepentant.


    Shaking my head, I stepped around the car to unlock the storage unit. The roll-up door groaned in protest as I lifted it. I knew to be careful¡ªlast time I was here, I¡¯d stacked the boxes in a rush, leaving them precariously balanced.


    Sure enough, as I eased the door open, I felt the weight of the nearest stack pressing against it. Their balance had shifted. Carefully, I braced the leaning pile with one hand, cracking the door just wide enough to keep it from toppling.


    One box, sitting just out of reach at the top, had other ideas.


    It tumbled to the ground, splitting open on impact.


    Scattered across the pavement were picture frames I¡¯d once hung on the walls of my apartment¡ªa family photo, one of me and my brother Michael as kids, another of me carrying my half-sister Chelley on my shoulders when I was fifteen and she was two. My college diploma in another.


    I exhaled through my nose. At least the frames were cheap plastic, so they hadn¡¯t shattered.


    After making sure the rest of the stack was stable, I knelt to start gathering the pictures: snapshots of my life.


    Nevermore swooped onto the edge of a nearby box, his black eyes gleaming with amusement. ¡°Ah, a metaphor made manifest.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t start,¡± I warned, shoving the frames back into their box.


    ¡°There once was a lass who made messes,


    Her failures she rarely confesses.


    But when towers collapse,


    And she¡¯s found in a lapse,


    She claims she¡¯s just under some stresses.¡±


    I leveled a glare at him. ¡°Nevermore, I will stuff you in a box.¡±


    ¡°My artistry is wasted on you,¡± he lamented, clicking his beak in mock dismay before hopping just out of reach.


    I ignored him and picked up another frame. This one was from my stepsister¡¯s wedding. The whole family was there¡ªDad¡¯s side, Katherine¡¯s side. Everyone.


    Except me.


    I hadn¡¯t been around that day. I''d been missing, lost somewhere in the woods during my three blackout days in March. I hadn¡¯t talked much to Sarah or my stepmother since then, and we weren¡¯t exactly on good terms.


    But what could I tell them, that I''d missed by sister''s wedding because I was too busy becoming a werewolf?


    Katherine would probably accuse me of just making more excuses.


    I got to work, carefully unloading the boxes one by one to avoid another avalanche. Eventually, I found the one I was looking for: my day-to-day clothes.


    The box was heavier than I remembered, but I managed to lug it to the car, sliding it into the trunk beside the two booted tires that had been living there since my last run-in with the repo agency Dixie Nissan had contracted. I made a mental note to ditch them at my next possible convenience¡ªand, if I could scrape together the funds, finally get a replacement tire from LKQ.


    Returning to the unit, I spotted another familiar box¡ªone containing my office supplies. My slim black briefcase with the Muckenfuss logo embroidered on the front was wedged between legal stationery and a few books. Inside, nestled among stray pens and old receipts, was a black leather hand wallet where I kept my emergency stash of tip money. Mostly singles and fives from shifts at the Moxy, though several crumpled tens and twenties were mixed in¡ªremnants of the soul-crushing nights I¡¯d spent working at Club Cheetah and King Street Cabernet at V¡¯s behest.


    I counted the bills. Two hundred and twelve dollars. A small fortune, given my circumstances¡ªbut also <i>everything</i> I had until my next paycheck.


    I reached for my purse to stash the wallet, wanting to keep it close.


    ¡°Did your purse just move?¡± Nevermore asked, his voice edged with curiosity.


    In hindsight, I should have paid more attention to that. But in the moment, I dismissed it, assuming it was just my gun shifting its weight¡ªI wasn¡¯t about to leave it alone in a house with an unsupervised Carl, after all.


    But I''d left it unattended while I went to feed the menagerie. I while I was worried about something begin taken from the bag, something might have <i>climbed in</i>.


    Something with eight legs.


    I opened the purse, intending to drop the wallet inside¡ªonly for a massive, red-fringed ornamental tarantula to scuttle up my arm.


    Elmo.


    A tangled mess of instincts fired at once.


    My brain knew it was Elmo. Knew he was harmless, that he belonged to Sandy, that I¡¯d seen him before.


    My body, however, did <i>not</i> care.


    A shriek tore out of me as I flung my purse across the unit, sending its contents flying. My feet scrambled backward¡ªtoo forcefully¡ªright into the stacked boxes behind me.


    Which immediately collapsed.


    The entire mess came crashing down, boxes splitting open, their contents spilling across the pavement for all the world to see.


    Which, really, only meant Maggie and Nevermore.


    Nevermore let out a low whistle, then alighted on the nearest box¡ªone filled with most of the clothing from the last¡ªand, well, <i>only</i>¡ªromantic relationship I¡¯d ever been in.


    He eyed the lingerie, his head tilting ever so slightly. ¡°You know, I never would have thought pink to be your color. Especially a shade so¡­ vibrant.¡±


    ¡°Shut up. <i>Shut up.</i>¡± I growled, still trembling from the heart attack Elmo had damn near given me¡ªElmo, who now perched himself atop my head, perfectly at ease.


    I wasn¡¯t at ease thought. Instead, I was brimming with a pure, and unadulterated rage.


    But it wasn¡¯t because of Elmo. Nor was it the boxes<i>.</i> In fact, I couldn¡¯t say I was mad at any one particular thing.


    I was mad at <i>all</i> things.


    In fact, I¡¯d probably been mad at <i>everything</i> for a while now. But I¡¯d kept it under wraps¡ªright up until the moment the damn boxes finally broke this wolf¡¯s back.


    I needed to hit something. Not a person, not an animal¡ªbut <i>something</i>. My desk, preferably. I wanted to lock myself in my room, beat my fists against the wood hard enough make the room shake, and let loose a string of blasphemies creative enough to make a televangelist weep. Then, when I was good and spent, I¡¯d call V, to vent until my throat was raw, and then ask if she wanted to go out for tequila shots.


    One night of getting sloshed, a morning spent recovering from the hangover, and I¡¯d be right as rain.


    Except, I couldn¡¯t risk going out drinking with the moon this full. That was just begging to end up on the front page. <i>Drunk Werewolf in Charleston: The Long-Awaited Sequel.</i>


    But once I got home? I was cracking open a White Claw. Consequences be damned.


    Surveying the mess, I let out a long, exasperated growl. ¡°Great. Just great.¡±


    Nevermore hopped closer, tilting his head as if savoring the moment. ¡°Perhaps I could liven things up with a bit of poetry.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare.¡±


    ¡°Not a spider¡¯s so itsy-bitsy¡­¡±


    ¡°Nevermore,¡± I warned.


    ¡°For a lady oh so ditsy¡ª¡±


    I lunged. Nevermore squawked as I caught him mid-recital and, without hesitation, shoved him into my car¡¯s glove box.


    <hr>


    I parked on the shoulder of Charlene Drive and got out, holding Maggie¡¯s leash to sell the illusion that we were just out for a casual walk.


    Once again, the July heat hit like a wall¡ªthick, humid, and suffocating. The transition from my air-conditioned car made it feel even worse, like stepping into a sauna fully clothed. Maggie stepped onto the grassy shoulder, instinctively keeping her paws off the blistering asphalt. She panted, tongue lolling as her head swiveled, taking in the surroundings.


    Ahead, the chain-link fence of the Veneer Avenue Depot stretched across the landscape. Right beside it, Brentwood Middle School ran the length of the depot, separated by a thin corridor of trees. On the other side lay a stretch of track that linked back to the CSX line. Towering piles of gravel, sand, and various rock products loomed in uneven stacks, waiting to be hauled off for construction.


    Concrete, dirt, and steel¡ªthese were the ingredients chosen to create our perfect modern infrastructure. But the government accidentally added an extra ingredient to the concoction: car lobbyists..


    Thus, the U.S. transportation system was born.


    Trains rumbled off in the distance, accompanied by the faint echoes of machinery. A sign that something, at least, was still moving. But the depot itself looked deserted.


    Sunday staffed.


    Coy had taken nearly half an hour to reappear after his jaunt into Abandon at the storage facility, giving me time to reorganize my boxes¡ªand my thoughts. When he finally returned, he reported finding Boden¡¯s scent, tracking it back here. A sort of pit stop before heading deeper into town. But before I could press for details or clarification, he bamfed off again, leaving me with an irritatingly long list of questions.


    Waiting in the car wouldn¡¯t have been a bad choice, given the heat, but I was too anxious to sit still. I needed to <i>do</i> something, and Coy¡¯s report had too many gaps¡ªpeculiarities he couldn¡¯t, or wouldn¡¯t, explain.


    So, I decided to do some sleuthing myself.


    Maggie and I skirted the fence line, weaving through the narrow strip of trees bordering the depot and the middle school. Overhead, Nevermore circled before settling on a branch just ahead, keeping an eye out for workers or wandering eyes.


    After spending some time confined to the glove box, he had emerged in lighter spirits, having used his solitude to perfect a bizarre crossover of <i>London Bridge</i> and <i>Little Miss Muffet</i>, sung to the tune of <i>The Itsy-Bitsy Spider.</i> Try as I might to resist, it had made me smile.


    ¡°No one in sight,¡± he reported, ruffling his feathers. ¡°We are in the clear.¡±


    I nodded, guiding Maggie along with a gentle tug of her leash. Shifting my bag on my shoulder, I felt the weight inside shift.


    I¡¯d left my hand wallet in the glove box¡ªafter freeing Nevermore, of course¡ªand had instead made room for Elmo. I couldn¡¯t leave him in the car, not unless I wanted to slow-roast the tarantula. I wasn¡¯t sure how comfortable he was, since my ability to talk to animals seemed less effective with arthropods, but he seemed unbothered. Maybe even enjoying himself. As if he <i>knew</i> he was on an adventure.


    Regardless, as long as he stayed in the bag, I was happy.


    Halfway down the fence, just past the middle school¡¯s baseball field, Maggie stopped. Her nose twitched, ears swiveling, before she tugged me toward a cluster of foliage along the fence line.


    I crouched beside her, breathing in slowly through me nose.


    At first, Boden¡¯s scent was faint¡ªjust another thread in the tangled weave of dirt, foliage, exhaust, and asphalt. But once I caught it, I could follow it, tease it apart from the rest.


    Maggie moved with purpose, her head low, nose sifting through the layers of scent clinging to the air. She led me to a patch of scuffed-up ground near a cluster of marked trees, where Boden had lingered. His trail wove through crushed vegetation, tire tracks, and footprints.


    Boden hadn¡¯t been alone.


    I inhaled deeply, sorting through the mess of overlapping scents.


    One stood out: sharp, artificial¡ªcologne. Ralph Lauren, if I had to guess, though it did little to mask the sour tang beneath it. Sweat. Unwashed skin. Whoever he was, and I knew from the scent that it was a <i>he</i>, he hadn¡¯t showered in days.


    His scent pooled strongest near the tire tracks, where the ground bore the subtle imprint of weight and stillness. If I had to guess, he¡¯d taken the utility road that cut between the school campus and the baseball field to park here¡ªout of sight, tucked into the woods.


    Maggie let out a soft huff, confirming my thoughts. I scratched behind her ear absently. Like me, something about this made her uneasy.


    Crouching, I gestured toward the disturbed ground. ¡°Can you tell if he was parked here long?¡±


    Maggie¡¯s nose twitched as she inspected the air where I suspected the car¡¯s muffler had been. The lingering scent of exhaust was obvious, but by itself, it didn¡¯t tell me much.


    She, however, could tell a lot more.


    The information she relayed back to me was clearer than I expected. Maggie wasn¡¯t just good at this¡ªshe was <i>better</i> than me. From scent alone, she could determine not just how long ago the car had been here but how long it had idled before leaving. Hell, even Coy hadn¡¯t picked up this much.


    This old girl was wise indeed.


    From her insight, I could place the man here about an hour before midnight, matching the time that both she and Coy had estimated for Boden¡¯s arrival.


    Which begged the question: <i>what was he doing here?</i>


    ¡°Alright, Maggie, let¡¯s see where this takes us.¡±


    She led me along the fence line, nose to the ground, pace steady but focused. The scent veered toward a section of chain-link where the metal had been cut and pulled back.


    I frowned, brushing my fingers along the frayed edges. ¡°Cut with pliers it looks like. Someone made an entrance.¡±


    Nevermore swooped low, landing on the fence. ¡°Well, this is troubling.¡±


    I peered through the gap, scanning the depot beyond. ¡°Nevermore, watch my back,¡± I muttered before slipping through, Maggie at my side.


    ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s a¡ªoh, well, never mind,¡± Nevermore sighed as he flapped after Maggie and me.


    Inside, the depot was eerily still. No workers in sight, but the distant hum of machinery told me I wasn¡¯t <i>alone</i> alone. I stayed low, Maggie and I following the man¡¯s scent as it wove through the site, past office buildings and between stacks of shipping containers.


    Our cologned man hadn¡¯t been wandering aimlessly. His movements were methodical, stopping at each container as if searching through them.


    <i>What were you looking for?</i>


    After I was satisfied with our findings, we slipped back through the hole in the fence, hurrying to reconvene with Nevermore.


    ¡°He was looking for something¡ªthe man, I mean,¡± I said, rubbing my chin. ¡°Or scouting for a job.¡±


    ¡°Like a heist?¡± Nevermore offered. ¡°Who¡¯d want to steal a bunch of dirt?¡±


    ¡°He might have been after equipment or vehicles,¡± I mused. ¡°They can be worth a small fortune. But according to Maggie, he spent most of his time around the shipping crates, not the machinery.¡±


    Nevermore cocked his head. ¡°And Boden? Was he dogging the man¡¯s footsteps?¡±


    I hesitated. ¡°It seems like it. He was with the guy the entire time.¡±


    Nevermore ruffled his feathers. ¡°Is this odd behavior for our lost dog?¡±


    ¡°Not if food was involved,¡± I muttered, standing and dusting off my clothes. ¡°Found a cheeseburger wrapper in a waste bin outside the offices. It smelled of the man''s cologne and looked like it had been chewed up by a dog. Either our man fed it to Boden, or¡ªmore likely¡ªBoden assumed it was for him and took it. Either way, Boden¡¯s stomach is the way to his heart.¡±


    Nevermore made a dry clicking sound. ¡°Charming.¡±


    ¡°At some point, the guy left,¡± I added, ¡°and Boden wandered deeper into the city.¡±


    ¡°So, we now wait for Mr. Coy to return.¡±


    ¡°Hopefully, he¡¯ll be more detailed this time,¡± I muttered.


    Nevermore and I made our way back to the car. Stepping out into the open, the sun bore down like a weighted blanket. No wind, no breeze¡ªjust heat pressing in from all sides. My mind churned through the details of what we¡¯d found, but the more I thought about it, the more pointless it felt.


    ¡°Are you thinking about reporting this?¡± Nevermore asked, fluttering beside me, landing on my shoulder.


    ¡°To who?¡± I scoffed. ¡°The cops? Yeah, I¡¯ll just waltz into the precinct and tell them I followed my nose to¡ªwhat, exactly? A future crime scene?¡±


    ¡°You could omit the nose part,¡± he suggested dryly.


    ¡°And then what? Tell them my psychic powers and service dogs led me to an unsubstantiated lead on a man who <i>might</i> have been scouting a gravel yard for¡­ who knows what?¡± I shook my head. ¡°No. Even if they did listen, it wouldn¡¯t go anywhere. Everything I know, I know because of Maggie, Coy, or my own senses¡ªwhich means none of it holds up in court. No fingerprints. No security footage. No paper trail. Just a lingering scent and a hunch. Oh, and some footprints, but those still don''t prove anything.¡±


    Nevermore tilted his head. ¡°So is that not what¡¯s bothering you?¡±


    I sighed. ¡°A lot of things are bothering me, Nevermore. You¡¯ll have to be more specific.¡±


    ¡°Well, something seems to be bothering you. I mean, you¡¯re hyperventilating.¡±


    I stopped mid-step. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been puffing like a bellows since we left,¡± he said, eyeing me closely. ¡°I''m worried you''re about to keel over.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± I muttered. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s¡ªlook, it¡¯s just a werewolf thing.¡± I pulled back my cheek with a finger, flashing my canines. ¡°See? Sill got my teef.¡±


    Nevermore recoiled slightly. ¡°Well, that¡¯s lovely.¡±


    ¡°Anyway,¡± I said, letting go of my lip, ¡°I could transform myself all the way back to human, so the changes are only skin deep. Hell, I still have most of my fur¡ªit¡¯s just hidden under my clothes.¡±


    Nevermore considered this. ¡°So¡­ you¡¯re a wolf in street clothes. And, what, you¡¯re panting?¡±


    "Well, canines don¡¯t have sweat glands like humans do. We have to pant to cool down.¡±


    ¡°But don¡¯t dogs sweat through their paws?¡± Nevermore asked.


    I hesitated, glancing down at my shoes before wiggling my toes experimentally. The sensation hit immediately. Damp, sticky fabric.


    I groaned. ¡°Ah. Great.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°My socks are wet.¡±


    Nevermore blinked. ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And now I <i>know</i> my socks are wet,¡± I said through gritted teeth. ¡°And I can¡¯t <i>un</i>-know that.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The rest of the walk back to the car was spent in a slow-building, deeply personal hell. Wet feet. Soggy, sticky feet. There was no worse sensation¡ªaside from, perhaps, getting shot in the ass by a monkey. The way the damp fabric clung, sucking and pulling with every step, like I was perpetually peeling off slimy, half-used duct-tape. It was unbearable. Disgusting. Like walking through life in a perpetual, clammy handshake. I hated it. Hated it more than I could rationally explain.


    By the time I reached the car, I was barely containing the full-body cringe threatening to take over. Before sliding into the driver¡¯s seat, I sat with my feet still outside, yanked off my sneakers, and peeled the offending fabric from my feet, shuddering at the sensation. Cranking the AC at full blast, I shoved my feet toward the vents, desperate to erase the lingering moisture before it soaked into my very soul.


    Nevermore, perched on the steering wheel, let out an affronted squawk. ¡°You¡¯re fouling up the car.¡±


    "Don¡¯t give me that. Birds can¡¯t smell,¡± I shot back, wiggling my toes as the blessedly cool air hit them.


    ¡°Like hell we can¡¯t.¡±


    I arched a brow. ¡°Don¡¯t ravens eat carrion? Shouldn¡¯t you <i>like</i> the smell of dead fish and roadkill?¡±


    Nevermore scoffed. ¡°Why in the world would I find your socks appetizing? Your feet smell worse than wet dog.¡±


    "Hey!"


    My purse squirmed. Sighing, I unzipped it, letting Elmo scuttle free. He climbed onto the passenger seat¡¯s headrest, took a moment to get his bearings, then cautiously approached my sneakers in the seat below him. After a brief investigation, the large ornamental tarantula immediately scuttled away.


    "See?" Nevermore declared triumphantly. "They even repel spiders."


    ¡°No, he doesn¡¯t like them because he can¡¯t fit inside them. He¡¯s too big.¡± I turned to Maggie. ¡°You don¡¯t mind, do you?¡±


    Maggie¡ªwho had climbed into the passenger seat, and now sporting Elmo atop her head¡ªnudged my shoe onto the floor. She made a noise halfway between a huff and a sneeze.


    ¡°Thanks for the support,¡± I muttered.


    I could <i>sense</i> Nevermore gearing up to say something colorful, a poetic jab about my feet, but before he could immortalize them in verse, there was a faint <i>pop</i> from the backseat.


    Coy reappeared, tail thumping lazily against the seat.


    "And where have you been?" I asked.


    Coy just grinned.


    <hr>


    The Meeting Street rail depot sat wedged between sprawling industrial lots and cramped suburban streets, a liminal space where commerce met concrete. The drive over had been smooth¡ªeerily so. It was a Sunday, sure, but with the Fourth of July approaching, Charleston had emptied more than usual. Anyone with sense and the means to do so had fled to the beaches, leaving the sweltering city to those who couldn¡¯t afford to escape or simply had nowhere else to be.


    This wasn¡¯t the Charleston of glossy travel brochures or pastel-colored postcards. This was the real Charleston¡ªor at least, the vast majority of it by square mile. The peninsula¡¯s historic charm was just a facade. Beyond the curated cobblestone streets, the city stretched outward, fueled by its growing medical district, tourism, and trade. Roads, rails, warehouses, and depots tangled with tightly packed residential neighborhoods, forming the true, unpolished sprawl.


    It was the kind of place where no one would blink at a woman walking her dog along a tree-lined industrial park. Though, I¡¯d likely turn heads wearing what appeared to be a fur-lined jacket in the middle of July.


    I parked at the corner of Hedgewood, beside an empty lot overgrown with weeds and littered with sun-bleached trash. Hooking Maggie to her leash, I corralled Elmo back into my bag just as a faint <i>pop</i> announced Coy¡¯s arrival. He trotted up from the other side of the car, a leash dangling from his mouth.


    Where he¡¯d found the damn thing, I had no idea.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± I eyed him, unimpressed. ¡°You¡¯ve been roaming free all day. Does that not count as a walk?¡±


    Coy wagged his tail, eyes bright with manufactured innocence, his whole demeanor light and carefree. But I wasn¡¯t fooled. I¡¯d seen enough to know better. Beneath his ridiculous, happy-go-lucky facade lurked something smug, something scheming. Coy played dumb with the precision of a con artist, and the worst part was, I couldn''t help falling for it.


    I was a sucker for a cute face.


    Sighing, I took the leash from his mouth, clipping it to his collar, and then looped it over my wrist.


    This stretch of Meeting Street had no sidewalks, just narrow grassy shoulders broken by cracked asphalt driveways. Across the road, an tree-lined embankment shielded the depot behind a towering privacy fence. I checked for traffic and started across with Maggie and Coy in tow¡ªjust in time to dodge a delivery truck barreling through the intersection like it had somewhere far more important to be than I did.


    I let Coy take the lead, expecting him to guide us straight to the spot he¡¯d flagged earlier. But after five minutes of weaving through patches of dry grass and uneven terrain, we were no closer to our destination.


    I frowned. Perhap I¡¯d parked farther away than I thought?


    But something felt off. Coy¡¯s focus wasn¡¯t on tracking. His tail swayed with a little too much enthusiasm, his ears flicking as he took in the breeze, the distant symphony of noises, the myriad of enticing scents carried on the wind. This wasn¡¯t the single-minded determination of a search¡ªthis was the simple, boundless joy of a dog on a walk.


    ¡°Coy,¡± I said, eyeing him suspiciously. ¡°We¡¯re not here for sightseeing.¡±


    Coy¡¯s nose was buried in a tuft of grass, utterly ignoring me.


    I turned to Maggie, who at least had the decency to acknowledge my existence.


    ¡°Are we even going the right way?¡±


    Maggie flicked an ear, her posture stiff with exasperation. <i>No</i>.


    I sighed. ¡°Unbelievable.¡±


    Maggie let out a small huff, and I got the distinct impression she was just as annoyed with Coy as I was. Unfortunately, that didn¡¯t mean she wasn¡¯t going to take advantage of the situation. A walk was a walk.


    Coy lifted his leg against a bush with exaggerated nonchalance. Immediately, Maggie began sniffing around for a spot of her own.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me.¡±


    Maggie glanced up at me as if to say: If he gets a bathroom break, so do I.


    I pinched the bridge of my nose, inhaling deeply before exhaling even slower. ¡°Fine. Five more minutes. Then we get back to work.¡±


    They took their time, sniffing, circling, and meticulously selecting their designated targets. I stood there in the oppressive heat, panting like an idiot, feeling less like a serious investigator and more like a begrudging chaperone.


    Then again, I didn¡¯t have to pretend to be walking dogs anymore.


    When they finally finished their little detour, Coy trotted back toward the road, his leash dragging lazily in the grass. Maggie fell into step beside me, and we trudged after him.


    Five more minutes of walking, and we arrived back at my parked car¡ªthen continued past it.


    Coy had led us in the complete opposite direction.


    I shot him a look, but didn¡¯t argue. He led us into the tree line, weaving through the underbrush until we reached the privacy fence running along the depot¡¯s perimeter. Nestled at the base, partially hidden by scraggly bushes and loose dirt, was a hole.


    A very large hole.


    Even without my heightened senses, it was obvious. The paw prints in the soil. The dark tufts of fur snagged on the jagged chain-link. The sheer size of it.


    This was Boden¡¯s handiwork.


    Nevermore flapped down, perching atop one of the fence posts where the rows of barbed wire were anchored. His feathers ruffled slightly as he scanned the depot¡¯s perimeter.


    ¡°Well,¡± he murmured, ¡°not much to see¡ªshipping crates stacked two, sometimes three high. A service road along the perimeter and some tracks just beyond the fence. No security. No workers nearby. No sign of anything particularly interesting.¡±


    I glanced at the opaque plastic sheeting running the length of the fence, blocking my view from this side. ¡°Right. Thanks for the report.¡±


    Nevermore clicked his beak, eyeing the hole. ¡°Why dig under the fence here? Or at all, for that matter? Did our wayward friend perhaps smell something particularly delectable?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°No. Boden wasn¡¯t trying to get in. Dirts piled up on the other side. He was leaving.¡±


    "Ah, of course."


    I ran my fingers through the loose dirt. "If Coy¡¯s right about where the trail leads, that means he must have entered from the other side¡ªfrom the direction the Veneer Depot.¡±


    Nevermore tilted his head. ¡°So, do we know where he went after?¡±


    ¡°Coy says his trail follows Meeting Street, then merges onto Durant Avenue into Park Circle.¡±


    ¡°Coy can read street signs now?¡±


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°No. I just <i>know</i> those roads. Used to deliver DoorDash around Park Circle and the nearby neighborhoods.¡±


    Nevermore¡¯s feathers fluffed, his amusement mild but apparent. ¡°How convenient.¡±


    ¡°It was a job,¡± I said flatly. ¡°And yeah, that¡¯s where we¡¯re headed next, but first I want to see what Boden was up to in there.¡± I cracked my knuckles and crouched beside the opening. ¡°Keep an eye out for me, would you?¡±


    Without waiting for a reply, I dropped onto my hands and knees and wriggled through the gap. The dry dirt clung to my turtleneck and pants as I pulled myself through, emerging  rather ungracefully on the other side. Coy was already there, sniffing around like <i>I</i> was the one taking too long. Maggie followed close behind, her nose twitching at the layers of scent hanging in the air.


    The southern end of the storage depot stretched before us. Rows of empty shipping containers lay scattered across the gravel lot, their exteriors bleached and rust-streaked from years under the sun. Beyond them, a dense patch of undeveloped woods pressed against the perimeter, a utility road snaking through the trees.


    Between the privacy fence and the lot, a pair of train tracks cut through the landscape¡ªthe same tracks Nevermore had mentioned. These tracks branched off from the main CSX line about half a mile north, then continued southward, converging with several other lines that carved their way down the spine of the Charleston peninsula before terminating at the ports along the Cooper River.


    I bolted across the tracks, the dogs keeping pace, and slipped into the shade of the thicket of trees at the southern end of the depot. The air was thick with scent of vegetation, laced with the faint tang of diesel and iron. But beneath that, something else caught my attention.


    A scent¡ªfamiliar and distinct.


    I slowed, inhaling carefully. Ralph Lauren cologne. The same one from before.


    My stomach tightened. The man from the Veneer Depot had been here too.


    And Boden had followed him.


    Pushing through the underbrush, we emerged into a dilapidated parking lot, half-swallowed by nature. Cracks in the pavement had given way to weeds and goosegrass, slowly annexing the space back into the wild. The weathered benches and rusted lamp posts suggested it had once been a public space¡ªprobably a small park for the nearby subdivision before the CSX Intermodal, or maybe the Charleston Port Authority, expanded their footprint.


    Now, it was little more than a leftover convenience, an informal parking lot for the employees.


    ¡°Maggie, Coy,¡± I gestured toward the rest of the depot, ¡°see where Boden''s trail leads.¡±


    Maggie took off without hesitation, nose to the ground. Coy trotted after her at a leisurely pace, his entire demeanor suggesting he''d get to it when he got to it. I had a feeling they¡¯d turn up more of the same¡ªBoden tailing the cologned man, the man combing the depot.


    Still, I wanted confirmation.


    Left alone, I wandered toward the rusting waste bin near the lot¡¯s edge. A discarded can sat at the top. I plucked it free, turning it over in my hands¡ªa Java Monster energy drink¡ªthe Mean Bean flavor.


    Lifting it to my nose, I sniffed.


    Cologne.


    Nevermore landed atop a bent lamppost, watching me with what could only be described as amusement. ¡°Tell me, does this piece of trash inspire any great revelations?¡±


    I exhaled through my nose, already irritated. ¡°A guy who drinks this probably doesn¡¯t make the best life decisions. That, or he¡¯s pulling an all-nighter.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps both,¡± Nevermore mused.


    Sighing, I sank onto a weathered bench and peeled off my socks. The sticky fabric resisted, clinging to my skin before finally peeling free. I tossed them to the far side of the bench alongside my shoes, then tucked my hands under my knees, swinging my feet slightly to air them out. It was impossible to think clearly when my feet felt like they were marinating in their own misery.


    Opening my bag, I brought out Elmo and placed him on my head¡ªpreemptive damage control. I still wanted nothing to do with him, but if I had to spend the day with his company, I''d rather not spend it with my blood pressure through the roof.


    Exposure therapy.


    ¡°So,¡± I muttered, glancing up at Nevermore, ¡°I don¡¯t think this guy¡¯s a thief anymore.¡±


    Nevermore tilted his head. ¡°Oh? And what led you to this sudden realization?¡±


    I gestured toward the trash can. ¡°Boden ate that sandwich back at Veneer, yeah? But this guy didn¡¯t just drop his trash on the ground. He carried it over to a waste bin and threw it away¡ªsame with this can. That¡¯s¡­ weirdly conscientious for someone cutting through fences.¡±


    Nevermore ruffled his feathers. ¡°Perhaps he fancies himself a gentleman criminal?¡±


    ¡°More like someone trying to keep a low profile,¡± I said, tossing the can back into the bin. ¡°Maggie placed him here around two in the morning. He¡¯s drinking a Monster, poking around in shipping containers¡ªbut doesn¡¯t even bother with the equipment or vehicles.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Nevermore said, intrigued. ¡°A stakeout, then?¡±


    ¡°Either that or he was looking for something,¡± I replied, rubbing the bridge of my nose. ¡°Maggie traced his scent across most of the Veneer depot. I suspect we''ll find the same here. I think he was looking for something stashed in one of the containers. Maybe a drop site. Could be drugs¡ªor something else.¡±


    Nevermore fluttered down to a lower branch, considering. ¡°Could he be law enforcement? Trying to follow up on a tip? You know, like a drug bust.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Hardly. He cut the fence back at Veneer. Doesn¡¯t exactly scream <i>badge material</i>.¡±


    ¡°But it <i>could</i> suggest a private detective,¡± Nevermore countered. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be unusual for one of them to operate in the gray areas of the law. That might explain his methods¡ªquestionable, but not outright malicious.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I admitted. ¡°It would explain how he knew about this parking lot. It¡¯s not visible from the road, and, unless you¡¯ve been here before, you wouldn¡¯t think to take the utility road to reach it. Someone had to tell him about this place.¡±


    Nevermore nodded. ¡°Which means he has an informant. And possibly a lead worth following.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°As if.¡±


    Nevermore fluffed his feathers. ¡°Ah, but I like mysteries. Do you really want nothing to do with him?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Not my problem. I¡¯m here for Boden, not to stick my hand into a possible wasp''s nest.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s assuming Boden followed him <i>just</i> because the man fed him. And were he a regular dog, I¡¯d be inclined to agree. But Boden¡¯s not a regular dog, now is he?¡±


    I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. ¡°Yeah¡­ that part doesn¡¯t sit right with me either. Too coincidental. But if Boden¡¯s magic quirk is somehow involved, that¡¯s all the more reason to stay out of our mystery man¡¯s business."


    I stretched my legs, brushing the dirt off my soles before sliding my socks back on with a grimace. Scooping up Elmo, I placed him back in my bag.


    Nevermore eyed me for a long moment before hopping back onto the lamppost. ¡°So what now?¡±


    I laced up my shoes. ¡°Coy said Boden¡¯s trail continues up Durant, which means he was headed toward Park Circle. That¡¯s where we¡¯re going next.¡±


    I waited for Maggie and Coy to return, idly bouncing my heels against the bench as my socks continued their slow, damp redemption in the warm air. When the dogs finally trotted back, Maggie confirmed what I already suspected¡ªour cologned mystery man had searched through multiple containers before heading back to his car, with Boden in pursuit to parts unknown.


    With that, we slipped back out through Boden''s hole, and made our way to the car. I started the engine and pulled onto the road, heading toward Park Circle.


    <hr>


    I pulled into the Park Circle Community Center lot, slipping into a tight space just as the previous occupant backed out. True to its name, Park Circle sat at the heart of a perfect wheel¡ªan expansive green space ringed by a circular road of the same name, with streets radiating outward like the spokes of a giant dartboard. The surrounding suburb was neatly divided into eighths, each slice a quiet neighborhood branching from the center.


    The park itself buzzed with life. Children¡¯s laughter rang from the playground, mingling with the rhythmic creak of swings and the squeak of sneakers on the basketball court. The nearby dog park hummed with energy¡ªa chorus of excited yips, play-growls, and the rustling of paws kicking up loose dirt.


    Maggie wagged her tail eagerly as I clipped on her leash, her enthusiasm more pronounced than usual. A flicker of nostalgia hit me¡ªthis had been one of Sandy¡¯s regular stops, a treat for the dogs when they¡¯d been particularly well-behaved.


    Coy, for once, chose to stay at my side instead of vanishing to parts unknown. Whether it was the familiar surroundings or the promise of fresh distractions, he seemed content to stick close. But maybe he just preferred company from time to time.


    We made our way to a cluster of water fountains near the main path. The fixture had three spigots: one for adults, one for kids, and one at ankle height for dogs. I pressed the foot pedal, and Maggie ducked her head to drink, lapping at the cool stream. Coy followed suit, though with considerably less dignity, unaware that his head was directly in the stream.


    I bent to take a drink myself, letting the cold water soothe the dry rasp in my throat. As I straightened, Nevermore fluttered down, landing gracefully on the edge of the fountain. His black eyes gleamed with amusement.


    ¡°Care if I join you?¡± he asked, tilting his head, then body, into the stream of water, as if it were a bird bath.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I hissed, glancing around.


    ¡°Relax.¡± He fluffed his feathers, shaking off droplets of water. ¡°No one is close enough to hear us. Besides, you¡¯re already drawing attention in your own way.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been panting ever since you stepped out of the car,¡± he noted, entirely too pleased with himself. ¡°Quite the sight, really.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not as if I can stop,¡± I muttered. ¡°I¡¯d keel over from heat stroke if I did.¡±


    Nevermore let out a soft chuckle. ¡°Never imagined lycanthropy to have so many¡­ peculiarities.¡±


    I scowled. ¡°Says the bird bathing in a water fountain.¡±


    ¡°Which,¡± he said, fluffing his wings and sending a fine mist of water onto the pavement, ¡°is a perfectly normal behavior for a bird.¡±


    I rolled my eyes and stepped away, heading toward the community center.


    Nevermore shook out his wings before taking to the air, circling high before settling in a small tree near the building¡¯s entrance. He took a deliberately roundabout route, aiming to appear unremarkable¡ªjust another bird finding a perch.


    Except that this bird was a raven, which meant he <i>did</i> draw attention. A few onlookers paused to snap pictures of him, their focus fixed on the striking sight.


    Meanwhile, I¡ªa woman panting like a dog and wrapped in what appeared to be a fur coat¡ªdrew none at all.


    As I approached the notice board outside the center, I scanned the pinned flyers, my eyes skimming over the usual jumble of community events, lost pets, and service ads. Pulling out my phone, I scanned the QR code leading to the center¡¯s Facebook page. Might as well check if anyone had posted about Boden.


    Nevermore¡¯s voice drifted softly from the tree behind me. ¡°Is it unusual to see so many missing dog flyers?¡±


    I frowned, glancing around to make sure no one could hear us before replying. ¡°Not really. It¡¯s almost the Fourth of July¡ªpeople are probably already lighting fireworks. Happens every year. Pets freak out and run off.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡± Nevermore didn¡¯t sound convinced. ¡°And Boden?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Nothing.¡±


    As the page loaded, I scrolled through the latest posts. More missing pets¡ªmostly dogs. The sheer number made my stomach tighten.


    I hesitated, then exhaled. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll admit, it¡¯s a little weird.¡±


    ¡°Only a little?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s not our problem,¡± I muttered, tucking my phone away. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    We left the park, heading south in the direction Coy had last picked up Boden¡¯s trail. I kept to the edge of the sidewalk, steering clear of joggers and other dog walkers. The less anyone noticed me, the better. Nevermore flew ahead, doubling back every so often, a dark silhouette against the bright afternoon sky.


    For someone who used to be a person, he made a damn convincing bird. The way he banked smoothly on the wind, perched without hesitation, and preened with effortless ease¡ªit all looked natural. Maybe it was. Maybe being stuck in that body for so long had chipped away at whoever he¡¯d once been.


    The thought was amusing at first. Until it wasn¡¯t.


    If that could happen to Nevermore, what did it mean for me?


    I''d had to believe myself to be a wolf in human skin to prevent my body from trying  transformation back into a normal human. A palliative trick to mitigate the fact that I didn''t yet have the strength to properly transform without help.


    Deep down, I knew who I was, that I was just pretending.


    But sometimes I forgot.


    Sometimes the sensation of fur beneath my clothes, the shape of my teeth, the steady rhythm of panting¡ªit all felt natural.


    Perfectly normal.


    Would there come a day when I stopped thinking of myself as a person? When the instincts stopped feeling like intrusions and just became... me?


    I glanced down at Maggie and Coy trotting ahead, their ears swiveling, noses sorting through the layered scents of the neighborhood. There tails wagged, and they, for all intents and purpose, seemed rather content with everything.


    I suppose that if the day ever came where I stop being myself,  I hopefully wouldn''t be as stressed as I was now. Not a bad consultation prize when you thought about.


    Maggie moved with steady precision, flicking her attention between me and the world around us, always working, always analyzing. Coy, by contrast, was determined to investigate <i>everything</i>¡ªhydrants, mailboxes, fence posts, stray tufts of grass. If it was vertical and outside, he was interested.


    ¡°Really?¡± I muttered as he paused at yet another fire hydrant. ¡°You¡¯ve literally been through here before.¡±


    Coy wagged his tail, completely ignoring me, his nose buried deep in the world of scent.


    And, annoying as it was, I understood.


    With Maggie¡¯s guidance, I was learning to parse through odors in ways I never could before. A simple bench at the bus stop carried layers of history¡ªdistinct scents from the people who had passed through. I could distinguish joggers from pedestrians based on olfactory cues alone: their level of exertion, their relative age, the laundry detergent they used. I could even detect certain health conditions¡ªdiabetes, pregnancy, and whether they were an alcoholic.


    I¡¯d read that dogs could smell diseases like cancer, epilepsy, and hormonal imbalances, and I was beginning to see how.


    The whole neighborhood was a shifting tapestry of information, constantly refreshing. For a dog, I imagined it was no different than scrolling through a social media feed¡ªexcept instead of updates about politics and cat videos, it was a catalog of who had been here, where they had gone, and what they had been doing.


    Coy, of course, treated it more like a dating app.


    He wasn¡¯t as blatant about it as Rudy, but I could tell where his interests lay.


    Still, despite his leisurely pace, he led us true. His meandering had a purpose, and as we wound through Park Circle, Boden¡¯s trail took shape.


    Boden had avoided the main roads, keeping to the quieter backstreets. His path hugged Bexley Street, which ran parallel to the train tracks marking the neighborhood¡¯s outer perimeter. From there, the tracks veered north toward the North Charleston Port Terminal, but Boden hadn¡¯t followed them. Instead, he cut through an overgrown lot, staying on Bexley before slipping through Triangle Park¡¯s narrow streets along Oakwood Avenue, finally emerging onto Virginia Avenue.


    Oakwood Avenue was our last stretch of normalcy¡ªmodest bungalows, overgrown lawns, quiet houses. But Virginia Avenue was different. The sleepy residential road gave way to a cracked four-lane highway, its median a battered strip of concrete.


    Beyond it loomed the industrial sprawl¡ªthe Buckeye Port Terminal and the Amalie Oil refineries, skeletal structures stretching toward the sky, belching white plumes of steam into the heavy air.


    I stopped at the curb, eyeing the expanse beyond.


    Boden¡¯s trail wove between warehouses and supply yards, slipping past fenced-in lots. Fortunately, it didn¡¯t lead into the refineries themselves¡ªsecurity there would¡¯ve been far worse than anything we¡¯d encountered at a storage depot. If it had, I¡¯d have had to rely entirely on Nevermore to scout ahead.


    Not that I didn¡¯t trust him.


    I just didn¡¯t trust his nose.


    Instead, Boden¡¯s scent guided us north along Virginia Avenue, cutting through the Charleston Metro Chamber of Commerce parking lot.


    The lot was massive, easily the size of two football fields, with faded white lines marking row after row of empty spaces. The asphalt shimmered under the oppressive July sun, a heat mirage making the few scattered cars seem like they were floating.


    I made a mental note¡ªif our search dragged us any farther from Park Circle, I could move my car here. But first, I needed to see where this led.


    Boden¡¯s trail skirted the edge of the lot, leading to the farthest corner, where a thicket of trees bordered yet another set of train tracks. Beyond them, I could just make out the outline of another storage depot¡ªsmall, but nearly identical to the ones we¡¯d searched before.


    My stomach twisted with irritation.


    The scent hit me before I reached the trees¡ªcologne, faint but distinct, clinging to the foliage like a signature.


    Boden had been following this guy, all right. And from the familiar traces of exhaust, this was likely where the man had parked. I couldn¡¯t pinpoint the make or model, but I had a hunch¡ªfour-cylinder engine, cheap gas. Probably some kind of sedan.


    ¡°Of course you were here,¡± I muttered, crouching to inspect the ground. ¡°Dragging Boden all over town. And now me.¡±


    Maggie joined me, her nose pressed to the dirt, sifting through the layers of scent. Coy, meanwhile, flopped into the nearest patch of shade, panting contentedly like he¡¯d done the hard part. Maggie join him not long after.


    I decided it was best to join them as well, the three of us panting under the meager cover of the trees. The heat was unbearable, and with so much of my pelt tuck under my clothes, I felt like I was wearing a portable oven. In hindsight, I should have brought a water bottle, but I hadn¡¯t expected Boden¡¯s trail to take me this far. Another reason to be annoyed at this cologned mystery man.


    Nevermore perched silently on the fence, scanning the depot beyond. ¡°Hmm. I don¡¯t think this place is in operation today. The front gates are locked, and I can¡¯t see anyone inside. I think we¡¯re good to go.¡±


    I pushed myself up, brushing the dirt from my hands. ¡°Alright,¡± I muttered once I felt somewhat cooler. ¡°Let¡¯s see what¡¯s inside.¡±


    The depot stretched before us¡ªrows of refrigerated containers lined up in tight formation like oversized dominoes. The air carried the usual cocktail of industrial smells¡ªoil, asphalt, exhaust¡ªbut something else lingered beneath it. Faint. Acrid.


    Metallic.


    My shoulders tensed. The scent gnawed at the back of my mind, something familiar yet unwelcome. My body recognized it before my brain did, a subconscious warning crawling up my spine.


    The perimeter fence was in bad shape¡ªsagging, rusted, with gaps big enough for even a human to slip through. I crouched low, guiding Maggie and Coy through first before slipping in after them.


    The scent only grew stronger inside.


    Among the usual stench of diesel and asphalt, there was blood.


    And a lot of it.


    I froze, my stomach tightening.


    ¡°Coy, stop,¡± I ordered.


    He halted mid-step, ears pricking as he looked back at me. Maggie pressed close to my side, her body tense, nose twitching furiously.


    Nevermore fluttered down to the fence beside me, his dark eyes sharp. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°I smell blood. Something was wounded here,¡± I said, my voice low. ¡°Maybe dead.¡±


    Nevermore¡¯s feathers ruffled. ¡°Can you tell what kind of blood?¡±


    I shot him a look. ¡°I¡¯m a werewolf, not a wereshark.¡±


    Coy sniffed ahead, his posture shifting from curiosity to caution. Maggie followed, lowering her head to inspect the pavement. I crouched beside her, my fingers brushing over a dark stain near the base of a container. It wasn¡¯t fresh, but it wasn¡¯t old either.


    And there was the smell of gunpowder.


    Maggie and I both recognized the scent for what it was. The sharp, sulfuric tang clung to the air, mixing with the metallic bite of blood. I straightened, my gaze tracking up the side of the container. There¡ªfaint but unmistakable¡ªa spray pattern speckled the metal like a grotesque constellation.


    Someone, or something, had been shot.


    The lingering sulfur stench suggested black powder¡ªlikely from a short-barreled firearm. A handgun. Maybe a revolver. No bullet holes to estimate the caliber, though. Either it was small enough not to punch through, or larger but hit center mass.


    Either way, our marksman hadn¡¯t missed, so far as I could tell.


    Coy let out a quiet huff and padded forward, nose to the ground. Maggie hesitated before following. A faint, rotten edge tinged the air¡ªthe unmistakable scent of decay.


    I swallowed hard. The blood trail wasn¡¯t singular. There were multiple.


    I quickened my pace.


    <i>Please don¡¯t be Boden.</i>


    Coy led us toward a small grove of trees at the edge of the lot. Nevermore was already there, perched on the fence, his sharp gaze fixed on the branches above.


    ¡°What did you find?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m not certain,¡± he said. ¡°But something dead is definitely here.


    I frowned. ¡°You didn¡¯t investigate?¡±


    Nevermore tilted his head, directing my attention toward the trees. A murder of crows had gathered in the branches, shifting restlessly, their sleek black forms rustling against the canopy.


    I raised a brow. ¡°So? Can¡¯t you talk to them?¡±


    Nevermore scoffed. ¡°Do you know nothing of corvid behavior? Crows are absolute bastards to other birds¡ªespecially ravens.¡±


    I smirked. ¡°Are the mean old crows bullying you?¡±


    He fluffed his feathers in indignation. ¡°They dive-bomb me, pull out my feather, and ruthlessly harass me.¡± He flicked a wing toward the chattering canopy. ¡°See? Still they mock me.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t wrong. The air was alive with jeering caws and sharp, scolding cries.


    "Don''t you shame my mother!" Nevermore roared back at them.


    I crossed my arms. ¡°I could scare them off for you.¡±


    Nevermore clicked his beak dryly. ¡°It¡¯s your funeral. Those little assholes know how to hold a grudge.¡±


    I stepped forward, and the crows stilled, watching. They flapped to higher branches but didn¡¯t leave, eager to keep nearby.


    It wasn''t difficult to figure out why.


    Under the shade of the trees lay the bodies of a dog, its fur matted with blood. Another lay beside it, just as still.


    I crouched beside the first, brushing my fingers over its collar. A name tag gleamed in the dappled light.


    ¡°Daisy,¡± I murmured, the name tugging at something in my mind.


    ¡°She was missing,¡± Nevermore said, landing on my shoulder. He glanced up at the crows above us, watching warily. ¡°There was a notice for her on the board back in the park.¡±


    I reached for the second collar. ¡°And this one¡­ Matty. He was on that board too.¡±


    Nevermore clicked his beak, his usual sardonic air replaced with something heavier. ¡°What happened here?¡±


    Maggie sniffed around the bodies, her nose leading her away from the depot. Coy followed, careful and subdued.


    I exhaled sharply. ¡°No,¡± I said, standing. ¡°Come back. We don''t need to go further.¡±


    I already knew what they¡¯d find if they kept going.


    I could smell more bodies deeper in the woods.


    And I didn''t need anything else to turn my stomach. I was sure by the end of my pet-sitting gig, I''d have an ulcer.


    But, to my relief, none of them smelt like Boden.


    I crouched lower, inspecting the wounds.


    ¡°Gunshot,¡± I muttered. ¡°Flank on this one, chest on the other. And¡­¡± I trailed my fingers over ragged marks. ¡°Bite wounds.¡±


    Nevermore¡¯s feathers ruffled in the breeze. ¡°You think Boden did that?¡±


    I shook my head. "No, too small. Besides, Boden isn¡¯t aggressive¡ªhe''s a smotherer, not a biter. If anything, he''s more likely to drown someone in affection than take a chunk out of them. But, I do think our mystery man shot the dogs."


    Nevermore clicked his beak. ¡°Do you think these missing dogs attacked first? I can''t imagine this man of ours harming a pet without provocation, especially with a gun. Not if he¡¯s trying to keep a low profile.¡± He turned his head, eyeing the bodies with something close to skepticism. ¡°Still, why are these dogs here? Odd behavior for a bunch of lost pets.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I muttered. ¡°Doesn¡¯t add up.¡±


    Something smelled off about them¡ªnot just the blood and decay, but something deeper. A wrongness clung to them, sharp and sour, like the scent of sickness, but not one I could identify.


    Maggie whined, pressing against my leg, ears flattened. She didn¡¯t like it either.


    That was enough for me.


    I led Maggie back toward the depot, hoping to piece together a better picture. The man and Boden had been here, just like at Veneer, just like at Meetings¡ªsearching containers. But then, the missing dogs had shown up, closing in from the same direction they¡¯d later fled.


    Coy sniffed along the pavement, weaving between containers with a rare sense of purpose. He halted near a faded smear of blood, barely more than a few drops on the sun-baked asphalt. I crouched beside him, brushing my fingers over the stain. Almost too dry to notice.


    ¡°Our man was bleeding,¡± I said, frowning. ¡°Not a lot, but enough.¡±


    Nevermore landed nearby, tilting his head. ¡°So he wasn¡¯t just fending them off¡ªhe took a bite.¡±


    Maggie circled ahead, tracking the faint, lingering scent of the pack. They¡¯d scattered after the attack, heading back toward the suburbs. But the man¡¯s scent veered in the opposite direction, straight to the parking lot where I suspected he¡¯d left his car.


    ¡°What would sic a pack of pets on someone?¡± I muttered.


    Nevermore shifted, talons scraping against the metal container. ¡°Something must have turned them. Stray dogs will form packs, and some can become aggressive, but this doesn¡¯t feel natural.¡± He ruffled his feathers. ¡°Then again, maybe I¡¯m biased toward assuming something supernatural. Being a talking bird and all.¡±


    I frowned at the collar still in my hand. Daisy. Matty. Just two among dozens of missing dogs.


    "They all had bite marks," I murmured, mostly to myself. "Probably from other dogs."


    I turned to Nevermore. "Didn¡¯t you say some infectious curses could spread through a bite? Could that explain this?"


    Nevermore considered. "It¡¯s possible, but for it to manifest and spread this quickly, it would need to be actively channeled."


    I narrowed my eyes. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    "It means someone would have to cast the spell and sustain it. A passive curse¡ªlike the one you may be afflicted with¡ªneeds time to develop. But something like this, something capable of affecting so many creatures this quickly, would require active facilitation. Like someone performing a ritual or spell."


    I exhaled sharply. "Assuming, of course, that this is even supernatural. I don¡¯t mean to Occam¡¯s Razor this, but jumping to the conclusion that some evil sorcerer¡ªor practitioner or whatever¡ªcast a spell that turned dogs into killing machines feels like bit of a stretch. Even for me. As weird as this is, there¡¯s probably a more rational explanation.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Nevermore agreed. Though, like me, he didn¡¯t sound convinced.


    I pointed toward the lot. ¡°He got in the car¡ªBoden, I mean¡ªand left with the man.¡±


    Nevermore was quiet for a moment before landing beside me. ¡°Then the trail goes cold.¡±


    I nodded, my thoughts churning.


    Something strange had happened here¡ªsomething I didn¡¯t fully understand. And Boden, sweet, goofy, too-friendly-for-his-own-good Boden, had gotten caught in the middle of it. And, if his magical nature played a role in this, if Sandy''s speculation was correct, it only complicated things.


    And now, if I wanted to find him, I¡¯d have to get involved in... whatever this was.


    <i>Or¡­</i>


    I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. ¡°I¡¯m going to have to tell JT Boden¡¯s missing.¡±


    The words tasted bitter. I¡¯d done everything I could. Followed every lead. But whatever Boden was caught up in now, it was over my head.


    I could only hope JT would understand.


    I stood up, straightening my clothes and turned to Maggie and Coy.


    ¡°Come on,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯ve done what we can here. Time to head home.¡±


    Maggie and Coy didn¡¯t move.


    That was when their distress finally hit me¡ªa slow, heavy wave of sadness emanating from them. They didn¡¯t want to stop. Not now.


    It hadn¡¯t occurred to me until this moment that I wasn¡¯t the only one bothered by Boden¡¯s disappearance. To me, he was a responsibility. But to them, and probably the rest of the dogs, he was family.


    I¡¯d been too caught up in my own head to notice. Maybe it had been too subtle at first for me to intuitively pick up on, or maybe I just wasn¡¯t paying attention. But now, after finding the missing dogs and losing Boden¡¯s trail, even I, in my obliviousness, couldn¡¯t help but notice it.


    Nevermore, either reading the moment or simply being observant, fluttered closer. ¡°We could follow the missing dogs¡¯ trail,¡± he suggested. ¡°Might lead to more answers.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said sharply, the word leaving my mouth before I could temper it. ¡°We¡¯re not following that.¡±


    Nevermore tilted his head. ¡°Why not? The trail could lead to¡ª¡±


    ¡°What, more dead dogs?¡± I cut in, my tone edged. The humid air pressed down on me, thick and suffocating. ¡°We know Boden¡¯s not there. He left with the man. That¡¯s all we need to know.¡±


    Coy whined softly, his body tense with indecision, torn between the trail and me. Maggie stepped closer, pressing her shoulder against my leg.


    Usually, she did that to steady me. But now, it felt like the other way around.


    Maybe she was grounding herself. Maybe she was trying to herd me toward the trail.


    Maybe it was both.


    Either way, now she was the one who needed reassurance.


    I knelt, running my hand along her back, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath beneath my palm. ¡°We¡¯ll find him, I promise,¡± I murmured, not entirely sure if I was saying it for her sake or mine. I wasn¡¯t giving up, but damn if it  felt like it.


    As I stroked her fur, a sensation stirred deep within me¡ªvast, immense, like staring down from a great height and feeling the pull of something just beyond my reach.


    A feeling I knew all too well.


    I froze.


    Digging into my purse, I pulled out my phone, careful to keep Elmo from making a break for it.


    <b>6:45 p.m.</b>


    My stomach twisted.


    An hour and thirty minutes until moonrise.


    And I was at least twenty, maybe thirty minutes from the car.


    ¡°Ah, crap,¡± I muttered.


    Nevermore alighted on a low branch, clicking his beak in that infuriatingly knowing way. ¡°Cutting it a bit close, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Thank you for the timely reminder,¡± I snapped, shoving the phone back into my pocket. I turned to the dogs. ¡°We¡¯ll continue looking for Boden tomorrow, but right now, we really need to get home. I can¡¯t be out like this for much longer.¡±


    I sensed their reluctance, the unspoken resignation in the way they hesitated before falling in line. Even though I knew this wasn¡¯t my fault, the weight of it settled over me like a personal failure. But what the hell could I do?


    We took the most direct route back to the Park Circle Community Center, avoiding Boden¡¯s winding trail in favor of the main roads. It should have been a quick walk.


    But Maggie¡ªwho had been an absolute trooper all day¡ªwas finally starting to show her age.


    She never complained, never faltered, but now, the fatigue in her steps was undeniable. There was no doubt in my mind that I wouldn¡¯t have made it this far without her, but I needed to remind myself that she wasn¡¯t invincible. Hell, for all I knew, she, unlike the other, was just a normal dog.


    For a brief moment, I considered carrying her, but she insisted she was fine, so I let her walk.


    Besides, we had time.


    Once we got to the car, it wouldn¡¯t take more than twenty minutes to get home.


    It was only a twenty-minute drive home. No need to rush.


    That¡¯s what I told myself.


    But no matter how I tried to focus on that, my nerves were fraying. The weight of everything pressed down on me¡ªBoden¡¯s disappearance, the mystery of the cologne-soaked man, the dogs who had seemingly turned violent. The puzzle pieces refused to fit together, and worse, my mind kept constructing increasingly grim possibilities.


    And underneath it all, something else stirred¡ªthe wild, restless energy rising inside me, answering the call of the moon as it climbed toward the horizon.


    I inhaled deeply through my nose, exhaled slow.<i> Keep it together.</i>


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that look like your car?¡±


    Nevermore¡¯s voice cut through my thoughts¡ªsubdued, hesitant.


    I looked up just in time to see a tow truck pulling out of the community center lot.


    A black Nissan Altima wrenched to the back.


    <i>My </i>Nissan Altima.


    For a heartbeat, my brain refused to process what I was seeing. Then Ms. Patterson¡¯s voice echoed in my head, smug and matter-of-fact: <i>Those boots have trackers, you know.</i>


    <i>Oh, God.</i>


    How could I have forgotten something so important?


    ¡°No, no, no,¡± I stammered, dropping the leashes and breaking into a sprint, as if sheer willpower alone could stop the truck from disappearing down the street. But it was already gone, taking my car, my cash, my spare clothes¡ªeverything I hadn¡¯t thought to carry with me.


    I stopped and just stared.


    Coy barked happily, tail wagging like this was all part of some game of tag. Maggie, after catching up, sat beside me, calm and steady, watching the tow truck with mild curiosity.


    The panic hit all at once, cold and sharp.


    No car.


    No cash.


    No cards.


    Nevermore landed on the curb beside me, tilting his head. ¡°Did you leave your money in the car?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I said flatly.


    He hesitated. ¡°Think you can hire a cab?¡±


    ¡°None of my cards work,¡± I muttered, barely hearing myself over the rush of blood in my ears.


    Nevermore clicked his beak. ¡°How long would it take to walk?¡±


    I wobbled on my feet, then sank onto the nearest bench, pressing my face into my hands.


    <i>More than four hours</i>. That''s how long it take to get home.


    The closest bridge into West Ashley had no pedestrian path. That bridge was miles downriver. Even if I ran, I wouldn¡¯t make it in time.


    The sun still hung high in the sky, and soon, the moon would be joining it. My pulse pounded in my throat, a steady, rhythmic drumbeat counting down the inevitable.


    I¡¯d go full wolf in broad daylight.


    Worse, it was on the eve of the full moon. I wouldn''t be able to control the wolf as I had the nights before. She''d be too driven by her instinct to listen to reason.


    As if on cue, my phone buzzed.


    The alarm I¡¯d set.


    One hour.


    One hour until moonrise.


    One hour until I turned into a werewolf in the middle of suburbia.