Max has a philosophical bent, and I’m not sure if I’m up for one of his lectures. So, I change the topic of conversation towards something I know he loves talking about even more than philosophy: Health food.
“Is that smoothie green?” I ask pointing to the concoction in a blender that’s in the middle of his countertop.
We’ve reached the kitchen, now. I have to say, it’s a lot nicer than my own kitchen. Taking in my surroundings, I quickly follow up my green-smoothie observation with another statement. “Did you renovate this place?” I ask.
“Yes,” Max, says, moving towards a cupboard. “And yes.” He reaches for two glasses. “Yes, this is a green smoothie. It has kale in it, and cucumbers, and celery, and ginger and garlic. And to your second question—indeed, I did renovate.”
“Garlic?” I say. “Aren’t vampires supposed to be repelled by garlic?”
Max has the blender lifted in his hand, poised above the two glasses. He pauses, tilts his chin up, and gives a hearty laugh. “Ha! Repelled by garlic... Penny, you really are too naive for words. It’s absolutely adorable. Where do you get your information? Hollywood movies?”
“And the internet,” I mumble.
“The two worst media outlets—most prone to misinformation. Really.”
He sets down the blender, without having poured any of the green drink. “That whole garlic rumor was started by one vampire. One. He was the head of a company that sold garlic, and it was a part of his marketing campaign. In fact, most of the garlic you buy these days is sold by vampires. We also eat cloves of the stuff, raw. I myself eat five cloves a day.”
Five! Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind if I ever plan on kissing Max Shire. Perhaps I’ll carry breath mints with me, and offer him one before the kiss even has a chance to begin. That way—
Wait one red-hot minute! Why am I thinking about kissing Max Shire?
I have a boyfriend, for goodness sake.
Max picks up the blender again and pours out two full glasses. “The taste grows on you,” he says. “After a while.” Then, he looks right at me, and gives me a wink.
Is it hot in here?
I fan my face a few times, and Max holds out the drink to me. “Here,” he says. “I’m used to the taste. I’ve been drinking one of these every day for the past one hundred and four years—ever since the blender was invented. Also by a vampire, I should add.”
I’ve accepted the drink, and now I lift it up and give it a sniff.
Yes, there’s a faint smell of garlic, which is a bit strange.
But it also smells kind of... fruity. “Is there... pineapple in there?” I ask, detecting the smell of something tropical.
Max nods. He’s already gulped down half of his. He swallows, and then gives a loud, satisfied, “Mmm,” sound. He grins. “And mango. I forgot to tell you about that.”
I take a hesitant sip.
Not bad.
It tastes surprisingly sweet and refreshing.
“Now,” Max says, finishing the last gulp of his smoothie and placing the emptied glass on the countertop. “What is it that you wanted to ask me?”
“Werewolves,” I say.
Max’s eyebrows shoot up.
I continue. “Are they dangerous? I think that there are a few here in Hillcrest, and I want to know as much as I can about them.”
Max eyes me. “How long have they been here?” he asks, carefully.
“Since Tuesday, perhaps.” I say, thinking of the date that Raul arrived into town. I’m not one hundred percent certain that he’s a werewolf, but I think it’s a good possibility. “Definitely Wednesday.”
Max frowns. “It’s now Friday, Penny. You should have told me earlier.”
“I didn’t really know until last night,” I say. “Are they dangerous?”
“It depends...” Max says.
“On what?” I ask.
“On which clan they originate from.”
I sip my smoothie, waiting for him to explain further. The taste has really grown on me. I take a bigger gulp this time, and really enjoy the sensation as I swallow it.
Maybe I do like kale, after all—when it’s blended with tropical fruit and served by a handsome vampire, that is.
“Werewolves are a fairly new addition to the magical community,” Max says. “They evolved around the turn of the century. It all started with one man. He’s the father of all werewolves.”
“Was it a genetic mutation?” I ask. I feel smart for saying this, and I’m sure that I sound smart. You can’t use words like ‘genetic’ and ‘mutation’ and not sound smart. I adjust my glasses. “I mean, did he have some kind of anomaly in his DNA that made him grow fur or something?”
Ha! Anomaly. Another smart word!
Max doesn’t look impressed. In fact, he looks rather amused. “Oh, Penny! You think you’re quite clever, don’t you?”
The man can read me, that’s for sure.
I take that back. The vampire can read me; that’s for sure.
Max goes on. “You humans place so much importance on genetics. You—”
“I’m not a human,” I interject. “I’m a witch.”
“Have you finished your work with the Art and Science of Becoming a Witch?” he asks. I have a feeling he knows the answer.
I shake my head. “No,” I say.
“Well then, you’re not quite a witch yet, are you, Miss Penny? You’re still green. As green as they come. An absolute amateur. It’s delightful. What cycle are you on?”
It takes me a moment to think back to the work my knitting circle is going with the little green book that states it will turn us into witches. We’ve been working through each cycle—there are thirteen, total—rather slowly. I grimace. “Cycle two,” I say meekly.
“Just starting out,” Max says. “That’s the cycle focused on the Banishing Spell, if I’m not mistaken?”
I nod.
“Appropriate timing,” Max mutters to himself. “Seeing as we have werewolves in town.” Then to me he adds, “Is the cycle going well?”
“Not really,” I say. “We haven’t exactly tried the Banishing Spell out yet. We’re planning on giving it a go next Wednesday, when we meet up to knit. Now that there are werewolves in town, we might meet up earlier.”
Max shakes his head.
“We’ll figure it out,” I promise him. “So—the first werewolf wasn’t a genetic mutation?”
“Right,” Max says. “I was speaking on genetics—and the obsession that you humans have about it. You think that DNA is the end-all-be-all; that it’s some sort of instruction manual, set in stone. But there’s actually something much more powerful, when it comes to predicting destiny.”
He pauses for dramatic affect. There’s a twinkle of excitement in his eye.
I’m afraid he’s going to go off on some metaphysical rant, so I brace myself.
I barely ever understand what Max is talking about when he starts to get all metaphysical.
“Consciousness,” he says, tapping the side of his head.
I groan. “Max, can we just stick to the basics?” I say. “You know how I get lost when you talk about stuff like this.”
“It’s not ‘stuff like this’, Penny,” Max says. “It’s everything. You can’t have a conversation about anything without talking about consciousness. That’s because consciousness is everything.”
His words make my head spin. “Can we at least try?” I say. “To have a conversation without talking about... consciousness. I’m not even sure what that word means.”
“The mind,” Max says, tapping the side of his head again. “That’s all it means. Thoughts. Thoughts are everything. Don’t worry. By the time you finish the ‘Art and Science’, you’ll understand.”
“So thoughts are more powerful than genetics?” I ask, trying hard to grasp even a fragment of what we are talking about.
“A thousandfold,” Max says, nodding happily. “Genetics had nothing to do with the first werewolf. The first
man who turned into a wolf was actually cursed by a witch. She used her mind... and magic. Really those two things are one in the same. She put a spell on him that ensured he would turn into a wolf at every full moon, whether he liked it or not.”
“So that part is real,” I say. “I knew that—the bit about the full moon.”
Max nods and continues. “The first werewolf felt ashamed of his condition. I know this firsthand.” Max doesn’t often act boastful, but now he does. He puffs out his chest and looks quite proud of himself, almost as if he’s announcing that Brad Pitt is a friend of a friend.
“That’s... pretty cool,” I say, because I feel like he wants me to. Really, I just want him to keep talking.
“It is cool,” he says. He nods. Then, he continues. “He hid away, especially around full moons. He thought society would reject him. He was afraid of his own wolf instincts. But then...”
Max places both hands on the countertop, and leans in towards me. His biceps bulge. “He started to like it. He started to enjoy the advantages that came with being a wolf. He fell in love, with the very witch who turned him into the werewolf in the first place.”
“Wow,” I say. “Now that sounds like Hollywood.”
“Much too complex for Hollywood,” Max says, shaking his head. “They would destroy the nuances of the story. If you like, I can point you towards an excellent anthology that conveys the story in detail: ‘The Curse that turned into Love’. There are some steamy parts—I should warn you.” He winks at me.
“It sounds... interesting. It’s kind of a romance?”
“Historical paranormal romance,” Max says. “The story itself is quite good. It stays very true to the historical facts. I should know, I wrote it myself. I think you’d really enjoy it, Penny.”
All right! I think I’ve heard enough about Max’s skills as a writer of steamy historical fiction. It’s off topic, and besides that, my cheeks are so hot I don’t think I could blush any harder if I tried.
“I’ve—I’ve got about all of the reading I can handle right now, what with ASBW. I need to focus on that. But... thanks?”
“It’s here waiting for you, should the desire arise,” Max says, in a way that makes me wonder if he’s speaking about other things that are here in this apartment waiting for me, should the desire arise.
Namely, him.
I clear my throat. “Thanks,” I say stiffly. And then, “So... the first werewolf fell in love with the witch that cursed him. What happened after that?”
“They had children,” Max says. “A boy and a girl. When they were wolves, they were two different colors. The female was snow white. Her name was Lux—in Latin this means ‘light’. The male was midnight black. His name was Tenebris—meaning dark.”
“Light and dark. Of course,” I say.
“The two siblings did not get along. They fought ferociously, and ended up parting ways, and venturing off into different parts of the magical universe. Thus, two opposing clans were born.”
“Ug,” I say, placing my now empty glass on the countertop. “Don’t tell me that one clan is good, and one is evil. I told you that I don’t want to talk philosophy.”
Max straightens up so that he’s no longer leaning on the counter and reaches for my glass. He carries it to the sink, chuckling softly as he moves.
“No, nothing like that,” he says. “But one clan abides by the laws and conventions of the society in which they immerse themselves.”
“Let me guess,” I say. “The clan of Lux—light—obeys societies laws. The clan of Tenebris does not.”
Max surprises me by shaking his head. “I can see why you might think so,” he says. “That’s a very human conditioned response. Humans love to link up light and goodness; dark and evil. Try thinking like a witch, for a moment.”
I try. Nothing happens, so instead I use good old logic.
“Okay, then the clan of Lux disobeys the laws? And the clan of Tenebris—dark—obeys them?”
Max nods. “Why?” he asks.
I feel like I used to when I was in school, and a teacher would call on me to answer a question I was clueless about. “Uh...well... maybe...” I try to think of something witchy to say. Nothing comes.
Maybe I’m still more human than I’d like to admit.
I am still only on Cycle Two.
“Come on, Penny. Think in terms of magic.”
“Okay,” I say. “Well, for one thing, lots of people think of black as absence. You know—people talk about the void, when they look up at the night sky. But now that I’m a witch, I see how full the darkness is. When I’m practicing witchcraft, the dark night sky starts to feel like a blanket, heavy and soft and draped over me—a source of protection.”
“Good,” Max says, grinning. “You’re making more progress than I’ve given you credit for.”
I smile. It’s genuine. Max is one of the only fully magical people I know, and I care what he thinks about my development as a witch.
“Thanks,” I say. “But that’s about all I’ve got. Can we get back to talking about werewolves? There are at least two running loose in Hillcrest right now. I think it’s possible that one of them killed a man named Raul Rivera who was visiting town. I’m pretty sure Raul was a werewolf himself. The police are making arrests, but—”
“But they have no idea what’s really going on,” Max says, knowingly.
“Not in the slightest,” I say. “I just want to get a grasp on what we’re dealing with, here. I mean, I thought vampires were dangerous, but then I met you—and you’re not...” I look down at my fingers, and start fidgeting with them to avoid looking into Max’s eyes as I speak. “You’re... not so bad.” I chance a glance up at him, through my lashes.
Max lifts a brow and grins. He’s enjoying my discomfort.
Silence lingers between us for a minute.
I break it by clearing my throat as I pull my gaze from his. “Ahem! What I’m trying to say is, maybe it’s presumptuous of me to think that werewolves are bad. Maybe they’re nice.”
I pause, trying to gather my thoughts.
Then I say, “I mean, you’re saying that there are two clans—one obeys societies laws, and one doesn’t. You said that some werewolves can be dangerous, and I’m guessing you’re talking about the clan that doesn’t obey laws, right?”
Max nods.
“Okay,” I say. “I need to figure out what we’re dealing with here. I mean... this lawless Lux clan of wolves with white fur... Just how lawless are they? Do they, like, go into grocery stores barefoot, even when there's one of those little signs up that says ‘no shoes, no shirt, no service’?”
“Yes,” Max says. “They would definitely do that.”
“Do they take library books out, and return them five weeks late?” I ask. “Or—never at all?”
“They never return library books,” Max says. “And they don’t pay the fines. They get a kick out of that.”
“Do they ... steal?” I ask.
“Most assuredly.” Max says.
“Do they—make counterfeit money?”
“It’s their only form of Lux Clan currency.”
“How about arson. Would they set a building on fire?”
“With pleasure.”
“But, Max, they wouldn’t—would they?—no! Would they murder?”
“Yes. Murder is a way of life for the Lux clan of werewolves. Like breathing.”
My shoulders sag. That is not the answer I wanted to hear.
Chapter Seven
For the next hour, Max continues to teach me all about werewolves. I learn about how they interact with each other and with humans, how they live, and the way that the clans fight with each other over land.
Once I leave Max’s house, I have a really bad feeling about the trouble that might be brewing in Hillcrest. The sight of the muscular, massive white wolf loping off up the street, away from the Hillcrest Inn last night is ingrained in my mind. That was a lawless Lux wolf. I know, because his fur w
as pure, snow white.
Now that Max has given me information about werewolves, I’m eager to share it with my coven sisters, who also happen to be my knitting group.
I text Marley, and am relieved when she texts me back to say that our circle will have an emergency coven meeting at our friend Annie’s cafe.
The cafe, called the Death Cafe (it’s a long story), will be open for business, but Annie has asked one of her nephews to work the register while we meet.
The best thing about our plan is that Annie does all of the baking for the Death Cafe—and her baking is out of this world. I’m about ready for something sugary after all of that green slush I just ingested.
By quarter to one, Marley, Annie, Cora and myself are seated around one of the cafe’s small round tables, positioned in the back of the room. There’s a small lunch crowd in the cafe, ordering caffeinated drinks and sugary baked goods to give them energy through the afternoon.
My coven sisters and I keep our voices down as we get right to business. We each have knitting projects spread out before us. We do our best thinking and talking while we knit. There’s something about the movement of our hands that helps us open up to each other.
“You guys, it was crazy,” Marley says, as her knitting needles click together. “I mean, Penny, wasn’t it crazy? We saw these two guys jump out of a window and by the time they landed, they had totally turned into wolves.”
“Are you sure?” asks Cora. She’s been flipping through her pattern book, but now she pauses and looks first at Marley, then at me. “That doesn’t sound possible.”
“We both saw it,” I say. “I don’t know how it happens, but it’s possible. I talked to Max today, and—”
“Oooo!” Cora says, wiggling her eyebrows.
“There’s nothing ‘ooo’ about it,” I say. “I needed to get information from him. He’s an expert in magic, Cora.”
Cora snaps her mouth closed. I might have sounded a little bit testy there. I can’t help it. I’m rattled from seeing Raul’s dead body, and my tense encounter with Max today hasn’t helped the state of my nerves. I have no idea where I stand with Chris, and that’s making everything worse.
A Hillcrest Witch Mystery Collection Page 24
