by Naomi Clark
“I was stressed out about the storm that day. Nervous about the new job, worried about being stranded in the woods. And some of the other times I’ve changed, I’ve been stressed out because of the whole monster wolf thing.” He pulled a face.
“And are you doing anything to manage the stress?” Callie asked.
“Like what? Meditation? Counseling?”
His voice dripped sarcasm, but Callie ignored it.
“Why not? If you know, or at least think, that stress triggers you changing into a wolf monster, why not do something to stop yourself from being stressed out? Isn’t that sensible?”
“What do you recommend? Chamomile tea and panpipe music?”
“There’s no need to be an asshole,” Devon jumped in, scowling at him. “We’re here trying to help. Why not chamomile tea? Why not meditation? Why not try to find something that helps instead of wandering the countryside randomly attacking people and then running away from it?”
Shame crept over his face, leaving him pallid and unable to meet Devon’s eyes. “Well, what do you recommend?” he asked again, more sincerely this time. “It’s not like anybody gives you a guide to this, you know? The only person who might have is dead.”
They were all silent for a while. Callie let her thoughts drift, everything Noah had already told them wafting through her head. They were all stumbling in the dark, so wasn’t the important thing right now just picking any direction? A path forward, even if it wasn’t the right one, was better than doing nothing at all and just seeing what happened, surely?
“Let’s go back to mine,” she said. “I’ve got a ton of old, rare books on the occult and witchcraft and all kinds of things. Maybe there’s something useful in there. And there’s the internet.”
“The internet is full of crazy people who say you can become a werewolf by looking in a mirror and thinking about it really hard,” Noah said glumly. “Don’t you think I already checked the internet?”
“We can check again,” Devon said firmly, standing up. She smiled at Callie. “Anything is better than doing nothing.”
It was a nice echo of Callie’s own thoughts, and she smiled back, feeling a burst of hope. They had a plan. She liked having plans. Her life was built around planning. Planning for her business, planning for the next new moon, planning for the next spell. When to plant lavender and when to cleanse crystals. Having a plan made everything seem easier. Even lycanthropy.
Chapter Six
There was probably nothing in life Callie loved as much as books. Old ones, new ones, paperbacks, hardbacks, expensive antiques and cheap supermarket romances—she loved them all. Secondhand books had been her gateway into witchcraft as a teenager, when she picked up a battered book on how to read tarot cards for fifty cents at a market. The written word, she’d always known, was a very specific kind of magic all by itself.
That was the feeling she worked to curate in her bookstore. All the bookshelves were secondhand, a mishmash of heights and woods that created a rickety, cozy atmosphere. The lighting was low, so that when a customer walked down the rows, they could imagine they were disappearing into a secret world, where it was just them and the books. She had strategically hidden vanilla and fresh-mown grass air fresheners around the store. The two scents mimicked the smell of old paper, enhancing the natural scents coming from the books themselves.
And all the books were carefully chosen. She wouldn’t take books on just any old subject, oh no. She wanted books with heart, books that had been loved. Old children’s picture books, books of poetry, cookbooks from the last century, ancient maps from when people thought Antarctica was lush and green. Books of etiquette from Victorian England, books on herb lore and palm reading. Books with hand-illustrated pictures of birds and small mammals from Europe. Every time Callie swept through her store and ran her fingers down the cracked leather spines, she had a flush of excitement and pleasure, and she wanted other people to feel exactly the same way.
So she was secretly thrilled to see Devon’s eyes light up as they entered the store a little later. Devon looked around in wonder, making a beeline for the children’s section. She pulled out one book with a cry of glee.
“I had this when I was a kid! I haven’t seen it in years.” She caressed the faded cover almost reverently. “I swear I still know it by heart.”
Callie peered over her shoulder to get a look at the book. The Crown in the Forest was a fantasy adventure involving a lost princess and a lonely dragon, if Callie remembered correctly.
“Is it about how to cure lycanthropy?” Noah asked, peevish.
Devon sighed and put the book back on the shelf. “He’s right. Let’s not get distracted.”
Callie made a mental note to put the book aside for Devon and led them toward the back of the store. Although she felt no shame or embarrassment about her witchy leanings, it had always just felt … right to keep her occult and magical books at the back. It should be the most secret, most private collection. People should be able to feel hidden and alone while they combed through books of superstition and ritual. Again, it was all part of building the right atmosphere.
So her magical books sat together on a tall cherrywood bookcase she’d thrifted years before, grouped together by subject. She’d found an old poster of a cat looking into a crystal ball at the same thrift store, and hung that on the wall next to the bookcase. It was an advertisement for something, but it was in Italian, so she had no idea what. There were a couple of old beanbag chairs by the bookcase, along with a cheap little coffee maker on a spindly side table. Callie switched it on out of habit and faced the bookcase, scanning the titles.
Devon joined her. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“I picked up a whole bunch of books on skin walkers and shapeshifters and that kind of thing a couple of months ago,” Callie said. “I only just put them out, though, and I’m sure none of them have sold yet… Ah!”
She knelt to pluck a fat paperback from the bottom shelf. Rites of Transformation was a pretty dry tome, given the subject matter, but Callie was inclined to believe that made it truer, somehow.
“The man I bought this from said it’s all real historical sources,” she said, leafing through it. “Real stories from shamans and witches, and—”
“Don’t you think he was just telling you that to get you to buy it?” Noah asked. He slumped down onto one of the bean bags, looking scornful.
He was starting to remind Callie a little bit of Melissa. Was it really that hard to just believe? To just accept you didn’t know everything? She bit back her snappy reply and said nothing.
“Callie’s trying to help you,” Devon told him sharply. “And you’re not in a position to sneer at witches and shamans, are you?”
He stared at his shoes and mumbled something that could have been an apology.
Callie decided to assume it was and carried on going through the book’s contents. “I know it seems silly to you,” she said to Noah, feeling a little braver for Devon’s support, “but all these myths and legends and bits of folklore, they all start somewhere. So there might be a grain of truth in them. And what do we have to lose by trying something? As long as it’s not going to hurt you or Devon, why not?”
“Depends what sort of thing you’re thinking of trying,” he said.
Callie turned to a chapter called The Inner Wolf. “Well, that’s what we’re trying to find out.” She settled into the other bean bag chair and started reading, mentally shutting Noah out. There was only so much negativity she could take when she was trying to be productive.
A slight movement at her side was Devon, perching on the bean bag next to her so she could read too. Her thigh pressed against Callie’s, warm and a little exciting. Callie smiled at her and shifted the book on her lap so they could both see it easily.
A warm, gentle silence fell over them. Callie managed to forget Noah’s presence entirely as she and Devon read.
Their closeness felt comfortable and natural, despite the short time they’d known each other. It also felt invigorating, hinting at something Callie didn’t dare think about just yet.
“Look at this,” Devon said suddenly, a nervous excitement in her voice. She tapped the page they were on, a little farther ahead than Callie had read. “Unlike other therianthropes, werewolves are ruled by the moon. Thus, the first transformation always occurs on the night of the first full moon after the infection or hex takes place. Once the wolf is unleashed, however, they may change at will.”
“I can’t change at will,” Noah grumbled.
“Maybe it takes practice,” Devon said. She seemed optimistic now, buzzing with a bright hopefulness. “Or maybe there’s a spell or a talisman or something…”
Callie kept reading, soaking up Devon’s buoyancy. It was encouraging to see some fight in her, after how defeated she’d been yesterday, and it made Callie more determined to help.
“It says here that moonstone is strongly associated with werewolves and the moon,” she said, scanning the page. “Moonstone helps balance polar aspects of yourself. Well, that sounds ideal, doesn’t it?”
“How do we use it?” Devon asked.
“It doesn’t say,” Callie said. “But usually if you’re going to use crystals for magic, you need to cleanse them, charge them, and keep them with you. Maybe just having moonstone on you helps you be in control of the change?”
Noah looked torn between skepticism and hope. “Do you have any?” he asked.
“No, but I know where we can buy some.” Callie read on, hoping there’d be some more useful information, like how to tell if you were going to become a werewolf in the first place.
Unfortunately, the author of The Inner Wolf was working on the assumption that the reader already knew that. There was nothing about signs or symptoms, or things to look out for, like hairy palms for sudden cravings for raw meat. The thought of having to wait two weeks before Devon really knew what she was dealing with felt agonizing to Callie. No doubt it was much worse for Devon herself.
Devon was clearly disappointed there wasn’t more information, too, but she masked it as best as she could. “Nothing in this book makes it seem so bad,” she said, leafing through the rest of the chapter. “This part even says that a werewolf can change at will after the first time. That’s good, right? I’m sure Callie’s right and it’s just a matter of practice.”
“But how are you supposed to practice?” Noah asked. “Whenever it’s happened to me, I’ve had no warnings, no chance to even try to control it!”
“That’s not true,” Callie argued. “You said yourself, it’s been because you’re anxious or stressed out. Have you tried changing on purpose?”
“Of course not!” he yelped, digging his nails into his palms. “Why on earth would I want to do it on purpose!”
“Calm down,” Callie said, a little afraid by his rising pitch. She really didn’t want him transforming into a wolf in her store, accidentally or otherwise. “Maybe you—”
She stopped herself from finishing. Maybe you need to practice, she’d been going to say, but that would just upset him more. Noah wanted to deny this strange new part of his life, and she didn’t blame him for that, but she couldn’t agree with it either. And she didn’t want Devon to end up like Noah. There had to be a way to handle this, right?
After all, if Noah was a werewolf, and his grandfather had been one too, there must be other werewolves out there. And they must handle it, because otherwise people would know. If your co-worker turned into a wolf every time you had an argument over the photocopier, you’d know. And almost everybody these days had smart phones with high-tech cameras. If there were werewolves just wandering the streets, everybody would know. So there had to be ways of dealing with it and keeping it secret.
And she and Devon still had two weeks to figure out. She just hoped she could persuade Noah to join them, before he hurt someone else or himself.
****
As much as she wanted to spend the whole day researching werewolves, moonstones, and moon phases, Callie really couldn’t justify keeping the store closed all day. Around lunch time, she left Devon and Noah to read and opened up. She stayed quietly busy for an hour or so, almost forgetting the two werewolves (or potential werewolves?) at the back of the store.
Then, just after she’d finished showing an English Literature student her collection of Renaissance poetry books, Devon grabbed her.
“Where can I buy moonstone?” she asked.
“Oh, there’s a store about fifteen minutes’ walk from here called Crystal Wishes.” Callie pointed vaguely in the right direction. “Did you find something else?”
“Nothing useful, unless I want to kill a werewolf,” Devon said with a grimace. “I just need a break and some fresh air, and I figured … why not? I have nothing to lose by trying these things, right?”
Callie struggled to hide her smile. Devon’s willingness to just try these things surely came from fear and desperation, and Callie didn’t want to celebrate that. But it was still nice to have someone ask her opinion on moonstones and talismans and really care what she had to say about it.
“Right,” she agreed. “And hey, maybe it’ll all turn out to be unnecessary still, right?”
“Sure. I hope so, I really hope so, but I’d rather try a bunch of weird things and not need to than do nothing and end up like…” Devon jerked her thumb toward the back of the store. “So is there anything I need to know about buying moonstone?”
Callie couldn’t keep her smile hidden at that, and she walked Devon to the door, chatting away about how to pick out crystals, wishing she could go with her. At the door, Devon paused and caught her hand, her blue eyes bright and brimming with sincerity.
“Thank you,” Devon said, squeezing her fingers and sending a thrill through Callie. “Thank you for just … believing me, and helping me navigate all this, whatever it turns out to be.”
Callie felt her cheeks heat up, and knew she was bright pink. “It’s nothing,” she said.
“It’s not,” Devon replied. “It’s … well, it’s something. I think it’s something. So thank you.”
And then she leaned forward quickly and kissed Callie’s cheek, her own face flushing bright red. Before Callie had a chance to react, she shot out of the store, letting the door bang shut behind her.
Callie was left with only the tinkling of the windchimes over the door and the sweet, glowing sensation of happy butterflies in her stomach.
This was definitely something.
Chapter Seven
Callie hid her disappointment that Devon didn’t want to stay the night again. It was only natural she’d want to get back to her own space, after all. But they swapped phone numbers, and Devon promised she’d be in touch the next day to let Callie know how she was doing.
Callie insisted on Noah leaving his number with her as well. If she and Devon figured out a way to help Devon, they could help Noah too. He insisted it was too late for him, but he also quietly asked her where Crystal Wishes was before he left, and Callie watched him head off in that direction before she closed up for the evening.
Once she’d tidied the store and locked up, she headed upstairs to her apartment with a stack of books in her arms. She had plenty more that touched on werewolves and other shape-changers, fiction and non-fiction, and she doubted she’d be able to focus on anything else that evening. So why not more research? Even the fiction books might have something useful in them.
She stuck a frozen pizza in the oven and spread the books out over her kitchen table. She lit a yellow candle for concentration and found a fresh notepad. She had dozens of empty notepads. She collected them almost absent-mindedly, and hardly ever used them because she was always waiting for something special to use them for. Helping local werewolves seemed special enough.
Evening turned into night and her candle burned cheer
fully against the shadows gathering outside. She ate her pizza without tasting it, falling into a trance-like state as she delved into the myths and legends surrounding werewolves. From silver bullets to wolfsbane, from magical salves to Satanic pacts. There was seemingly no end to the ways you could become one, or kill one, but precious little information on how to be … well, good at being a werewolf.
As for curing lycanthropy, a few hours of reading left Callie convinced the cure might be worse than the disease. Starving them was recommended by the Ancient Greeks. Exorcism was favored by Medieval texts. Apparently in Germany it was good enough to just call the wolf by its human name three times. That seemed too far in the opposite direction from exorcism in Callie’s opinion.
Eventually, she realized her candle had burned out, and the words on the page before her were just meaningless squiggles. She rose from her chair and stretched her stiff back, checking the clock on the wall. It was nearly midnight. Her notepad was full of scrawlings, but she had no idea how useful any of it was.
Hopefully, Devon would come by again tomorrow and they could go through it all together. As Devon herself had said, there was nothing to lose by trying things. An exorcism was probably out of the question, but who knew? Maybe Devon could pledge herself to Saint Hubert and fix everything.
Before she went to bed, Callie drew a single card from her tarot deck. The Fool smiled up at her once again, asking her if she was ready to leap into the unknown and trust the universe to provide a path. Thoughtful, Callie left the card on her bedside table and crawled under the duvet. Maybe tomorrow would be a good day to try something new.
****
Callie was surprised when it was Noah, not Devon, who contacted her first the next day. She was taking her lunch break in Mocha Aroma, wolfing down a three-cheese panini and contemplating the word wolfing, when her phone buzzed. She couldn’t help a pang of disappointment when Noah’s name popped up on her screen.
He was asking if she and Devon could meet later. He didn’t say what for, but really, what else was it going to be about?
