Beauty is the Beast: Beasts Among Us - Book 1

by Jennifer Zamboni

“Uh huh. Ellie, how old are you?” Percy asked, the scent of worry wafting off of her.

  “15.”

  “And your boyfriend?”

  “17.”

  “Don’t you think you’re rushing things a bit?” Percy led her to a shampoo bowl.

  “No way! I can’t wait to get married. I love him so much," said Ellie, bouncing as she sat.

  Oh, boy. Percy had her hands full. She would feel obligated to tell Ellie’s mother, without Ellie finding out that it was Percy who snitched on her.

  “Goddammit, why can’t I move faster?” My client shuffled along to my station.

  “No hurry, Mr. Webel.” I held the chair still while he sat.

  “I know, I know. Don’t ever get old. It sucks.” He sighed as he sank down.

  “I won’t,” I promised. No issue there. I’d never get old. I might get dead, especially if I decided not to join the pack, but I’d never get old.

  I was performing close out, counting out the drawer and splitting money into envelopes, when the phone rang.

  “Good evening, Olympian’s Salon. How may I help you?” I spoke into the receiver.

  “Hi, this is Amanda from Babe’s Place.”

  Babe’s Place was the only other salon in our town and therefore technically our competition.

  “Hey, Amanda, this is Gretchen.” I smiled as I spoke. I liked Amanda. She was good people.

  “Oh, hey,” she said.

  “What’s up?” I asked. I knew she didn’t want to make an appointment.

  “You need to watch the local news right now.”

  “Okay.” I pressed the mouthpiece against my shoulder so I wouldn’t shatter her eardrum. “Hey, guys, turn on the news.”

  “Why?” Lacey asked, wandering over to the waiting area television and doing as I asked.

  “So what are we listening to the news for?” I asked

  “You’ll see. Talk to you later.” Amanda hung up without giving any more information.

  I joined the others on the couch for the third time that day.

  A well-dressed woman holding a microphone stood outside a salon. “24-year-old Catherine Materna, a beautician at this salon, was found dead in her home. The body was discovered early this morning after she failed to show up for work.”

  The camera turned to an overly made-up hairdresser with mascara streaking down her cheeks. “Cathy is—was—never late. She’s been working here since she got out of school. She’s so talented. I can’t believe she’s dead.” The woman sobbed, and the camera left her.

  “The police aren’t releasing any information about the death at this time. We know she lived alone, and the neighbors in the surrounding apartments allegedly never heard a sound.”

  The news turned to sports, and Percy turned off the TV. If details weren’t being released, chances were it was a particularly gruesome murder. I should know, I’d killed before. I was a wolf at the time, but it was still a part of me that did it.

  Lacey fiddled with her fingers, and Percy stared at the blank television.

  We didn’t know the dead girl, but still we felt a sort of solidarity with her as cosmetologists.

  There was no motive; no one had heard an argument or anything. She was apparently well liked by her coworkers, and she was single, so no jealous boyfriends.

  Lacey Googled her on the salon computer, and we found pictures of a curvy girl with punkish purple streaks and perfect makeup. She dressed cute, appropriate for a hairdresser. The page we found was actually connected to the salon, so we clicked on the link. There were some daring cuts and colors on her personal page. She was the kind of girl we would have liked to hire. What a waste.

  Upstairs, alone, I played my violin, my music more melancholy than murder would normally dictate. Thankfully, it was only colored by my sadness for the girl, and not by my near change in front of clients that morning.

  I stopped playing.

  Why was the murder of a complete stranger affecting me like this? I had to be missing something that connected my life to hers besides our choice in careers.

  I picked my instrument back up and played, trying to work out my thoughts. Maybe it was just the stress I’d been feeling lately manifesting itself in yet another new and less-than-thrilling way. I put my violin down and searched out Lacey, knocking on her door.

  “Come on in,” she called.

  I did, flopping down on one of her love seats. My head rested on one arm, my legs hanging off the other.

  “So what do you think?” I asked, kicking my toes.

  “I dunno. Dead girl. No one I knew,” said Lacey with a shrug. She’d changed into her pj’s. I could see her heart printed pajama bottoms peeking out from under her oversized bathrobe.

  “You don’t think it was the pack, do you?” I asked.

  There it was, my possible connection. I’d requested that they not hunt near people or hunt humans, but who knows if they’d honored my request.

  “Dunno, maybe. There weren’t a whole lot of details.” She sank down in her recliner.

  “No, and you know that means there’s something the police don’t want the public to know. Like a girl’s throat ripped out without any evidence of a dog.”

  “Nobody heard anything. I think you’re worrying too much. If they were going to kill a human, don’t you think they’d go after someone you knew? You know, as an example.”

  “Yeah, except the only people I’m close to are you guys. And neither of you are human.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  “Up yours, Watson.” I threw a pillow at her, then left to go think, worrying the pack was involved.

  Fridays were for rehearsal, and Saturdays were for gigs. I loved both.

  Austin's house was an unassuming white cape cod tucked away at the end of a long driveway. His dog, a huge Saint Bernard, gave me a slobbery greeting before I was allowed inside. "Nice to see you too, Sheltingham." I gave him a good scratch around the ears.

  "Sheltingham, leave her alone!" Austin's wife, Denise, yelled out the door.

  "No worries," I said, walking into their living room. "You know I love dogs."

  "And they love you, I noticed. Still, he doesn't have to be so overwhelming," said Denise as she shut the door.

  I wasn't overwhelmed. It was nice to be around another dog, even a normal one. He added to the already welcoming smell of the house.

  I pulled out and plugged in Lola, my electric violin, then tuned her while the boys arrived. Austin was already set up and warming up with a snazzy jazz beat on his drums. I joined in. Jazz might not be my thing, but it was a good mental exercise.

  Scott was unusually quiet. I wasn't surprised, what with Penny's death being so recent and all. Normally, I found Scott kind of obnoxious, but today his attitude subdued us all, producing a less than stellar rehearsal.

  Mark, our lead singer and guitar player, grumbled at us but didn't push the issue. "I know things are rough right now, but we have a gig to play tomorrow," he said. Mark wasn't a heartless guy, but he was a dedicated musician.

  "We'll be fine. I don't know about you guys, but live audiences always give me energy," I said, laying Lola back in her case.

  Saturday rolled smoothly into Sunday, the beginning of the stylist weekend.

  I got up relatively early and sudsed up with some extra strong tea tree shampoo, rinsing free the previous night's performance. There is nothing quite like tea tree in the morning. It’s like Altoids for your head.

  I followed up my shower with a bit of lazing around my room. I was utterly relaxed, which wasn't surprising, considering the new moon was fast approaching. I read some Austen in my bathrobe, then got dressed half an hour or so later.

  It was too bad Lacey couldn’t go for a mid morning jaunt, but I had that feeling she just might go all crispy if she went out in the sun.

  There was a knock on my door, followed by a Lacey. “Are you up yet? Oh, good. I have to show you my new toy!” She pulled something out from behind her back.
/>   “It’s an umbrella,” I said, looking over the bit of fluff straight out of Gone with the Wind.

  “It’s a parasol. You, of all people, should recognize a parasol when you see one. They were pretty common in your century weren’t they?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I curled up one side of my lip. “Open it up. Let’s see it.”

  “I got it right before your thing last night. What do you think?” She opened it carefully and twirled it over her shoulder.

  It was pink, of course, and embroidered with roses and violets.

  “Very pretty,” I said.

  “Do you know what this means?” she asked, bouncing on her toes.

  “You can go singin' in the rain?" I guessed, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It means I can go out during the day!” She closed the parasol and stuck it under her arm.

  “You could go out with an umbrella. And that big black one offered more protection," I mentioned the huge thing I'd bought for her years ago that had met an unfortunate end, via wolf.

  “And it was ugly. This is pretty. People will admire instead of scoff.” She poked me with it.

  She may have had a point. I’d seen elderly women walking down the road with umbrellas on a sunny day, but never a 21-year-old. A parasol would come off as an eccentric fashion statement instead of prematurely senile.

  “So what are you up to today?” I asked.

  “No plans, but I’ll probably skip out on a run all the same. Too awkward.” she shook her new toy for emphasis.

  It was worth a try. “Spar with me?” I was ever hopeful.

  “Maybe. You look like you just took a shower, though.” She pointed a finger at my half-dry curls.

  “Yeah, I crashed when I got home last night, so I had to wash out the gook when I woke up. What did you think of the performance?”

  “You guys were great. You looked like you were really into being up there. Looks like Scott's going to survive,” said Lacey. "I mean, he didn't seem too torn up."

  "He was on a stage in front of a crowd. What did you expect? Tears?"

  "I just thought he'd be more emotional, that's all," said Lacey, scowling at me.

  "He's dealing," I said, even though I shared her opinion.

  She sighed and headed for the door. “I’ll change and meet you downstairs in 15.”

  I smiled at the closed door. Good, something to do!

  I changed into gray sweatpants, cut into knee length shorts, and a black sports bra. We liked to wail on each other, and we got hot pretty quick.

  Yes, Lacey got hot even though she's dead. She didn’t sweat, though. Lucky girl. She didn’t have a very high water content to her body, so she had to lotion up day and night, or she got dried out and all wrinkly like a raisin. Vampires really aren't pretty creatures in their natural state.

  I jogged barefoot down the back stairs, ending up in the pantry instead of the kitchen. Close enough. I gave a mental shrug and continued to my destination.

  Lacey wasn’t in the ballroom-turned-gym yet, so I dragged out the mats by myself. We always spar on these enormous mats, just in case. We have a special corner, padded 10 feet up, to prevent damage. Some days it worked better than others.

  I unbalanced the plastic-smelling floor mats so they fell on their own, then organized them all to fit together. I didn’t particularly want to fall through a gap if I could help it.

  We didn’t use any personal padding as we both heal relatively quickly.

  “Hey, great, you’re all ready.” Lacey-Marie sat down on the mat to take off her sneakers, tossing them aside.

  As soon as she got up, we started circling each other. Lacey hadn't taken any martial arts training. She was a straight up girly fight scrapper, and incredibly strong and fast. Stronger and faster than I am. My only advantage was technique and knowing her well enough to guess what she was going to do next about eighty percent of the time.

  I pulled my fists up into guard position and started to plan my move. She followed my movements, then struck out. I blocked, just barely. I threw a punch, which she ducked under. She retaliated by trying to scratch me with her fingernails.

  Girly fighter, like I said.

  She hissed as she threw her next punch. We became a knot of hissing, growling, and flying limbs. Every once in a while, we made contact. She landed more than I avoided, but I gave it right back to her. Her style was sloppy, while my attacks were more calculated.

  We’d toppled each other to the floor when we heard a knock at the front door. We scrambled off the mats. I hadn’t heard Percy or Hades stir yet, so the lady of the house wasn’t available to answer.

  We raced each other down the hall, through doors, and into the salon, skittering to a stop in front of the grand entrance as we regained our composure.

  I opened the door, while Lacey hung back to avoid any accidental sun exposure.

  “Good morning,” the man standing outside greeted me. “I am Ulysses, Ringmaster of Treats and Freaks Circus." He bowed with a flourish, then continued, "We’re going to be in town for a while, and I was wondering if I could drop off some program pamphlets for you to hand out to your customers. Perhaps I could hang up a poster? This is Olympian’s Salon and Day Spa, is it not?”

  “It is. We’re closed for today, but I think it would be fine if you wanted to drop your stuff off. I can hang the poster by the front counter.” I stared at the large man in front of me.

  He was dressed to the nines in tails and a top hat. The slightly worn fabric strained around his large frame, his girth and height matched his booming voice. He sounded as if he were addressing an audience of hundreds, instead of just two. He smelled of sweat, animals, and aftershave.

  “Wonderful! Here you go." He pulled a stack of papers from the plastic grocery bag he was carrying. "Opening day is Tuesday, and we’re expecting a full house.”

  “Sounds neat,” I improvised, not really knowing how he expected me to react.

  “Yes, well, yes. Have a spectacular day!” He bowed again before departing.

  “You too.” I closed the door behind him.

  “That was weird,” said Lacey, peeling herself out of the shadows.

  “I agree.”

  “Who was that?” Percy asked, descending the stairs dressed in her bathrobe and slippers.

  “A ringmaster. Here.” I handed her one of the fliers, then proceeded to hang the poster on our front counter with scotch tape.

  “Huh, sounds less than legitimate,” she commented, handing the paper to Lacey.

  Lacey read it over quickly. “The circus part looks legit. There’s no mention of actual freaks, though.”

  “Maybe they got rid of the side show because it’s not PC, or some crap like that.” I took one of the pamphlets off the pile.

  There would be animals, clowns, and death defying acts. Kids would love it. Parents, perhaps less so.

  “Well, I’ll call Toni and prepare her,” I said, waving the piece of paper.

  Not that there was anything to actually prepare our new nail tech for, but still, I wanted to tell her about the strange ringmaster who delivered advertisements for his circus by hand.

  Toni actually sounded excited to take her kids as they couldn't remember the last one that had come to town. I suspected she just wanted an excuse to get all stickied up with cotton candy.

  As soon as I finished my calls, Lacey and I went back to beating the stuffing out of each other. I think she was even more into it than I. That girl had some serious aggression to work through, which was fine by me. The madder she got, the worse she fought, the more focused I became.

  I picked her up and body slammed her into the wall.

  Not appreciating that, she came flying at me tooth and claw.

  There was the little vampy I knew and loved to torture.

  I met her charge with my braced shoulder, sending her flying. Evidently, that’s all she was capable of. The more I tumbled her through the air, the more pissed she became, the less s
he used her head.

  Lacey-Marie was actually a pretty smart chicky. She wasn’t only a biology major when she was changed, she was also a straight-A student, a cheerleader, and a regular volunteer at several charities.

  The next time she came at me, I slammed her onto the mat and sat my full wolf weight on her chest. “That’s enough! You’re not sparring anymore, you’re letting me beat you up. Frankly, it’s boring me.”

  She hissed and snapped her teeth at me.

  “I’m done. Go throw yourself into a wall.” I removed my weight from her and walked towards the edge of the mat. Smelling her rage fast approaching, I leaned forward for balance and kicked back, catching her in the stomach. I heard the tell-tale whoosh of air that meant I'd knocked the wind out of her as I walked out the door, leaving her to recover on her own.

  “She’s an imbecile,” I muttered at Percy as I entered the kitchen. She was dressed and accompanied by Hades, who looked out of character in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt.

  I looked down at his feet.

  Oh, good, he hadn’t lost the combat boots. There was still order to the world.

  “Morning,” he said, sipping his coffee.

  “It is.” I grabbed a couple of eggs from the fridge, cracking them into the cast iron skillet, and started frying.

  “What did she do this time?” Percy knew exactly to whom I was referring.

  “We were sparing, hence the workout garb,” I struck a pose then continued, “and she completely lost it. She’s getting sloppy, and she’s going to get figured out in an even bigger way than I might.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her as best I can, but I believe she’ll settle. It’s probably just the change in seasons."

  “Probably. The pack is keeping me on edge, and I might be rubbing off on her.”

  “And as for people finding you out, we’re not going to let that happen. You know when you’re slipping, and I’m fine with covering for you. People like their privacy around here, and they’ll respect ours.”

  She’d lived in Maine a lot longer than I had. I was used to people getting nosy about your business—ye olde time south was like that. She also had the tendency to believe the best of people.