Collected: A Coveted Novella

by Madison, Shawntelle

  I folded my arms over my chest. “If you fought me, you’d die from exhaustion.”

  The zmee snorted. “I’ve been alive for thousands of years. Talk is cheap, and so are your brand name shoes.”

  There went my sorry-ass bluff. Damn it.

  A wolf would never walk away from a situation like this. Especially if an overweight, barely smoke-breathing dragon tried to sass them.

  My fingers twitched, and the wolf inside whined from indecision. There had to be a way to solve this without fighting him. But then again, the dragon couldn’t go anywhere anyway.

  I searched through my purse until I found a set of matches. Since I often enjoyed a warm fireplace in the evening, matches came in handy. I waltzed over to a generous patch of dead grass near the tree.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” the nymph screeched from above.

  Now I didn’t need to tell them I wouldn’t set the tree on fire, but I saw no reason why I couldn’t push my point. I struck a match and waved it close to the ground. With a good breeze going through this area, the grass would burn quickly. The thick oak would be next. The nymph slid down from her high perch but stopped on a lower-lying branch. She was tiny, no match for me in werewolf form.

  Now irate and angry, she spat curses to the zmee in a tongue I didn’t understand. Perhaps his lack of mobility was a bit of a sore point between the two.

  The zmee sputtered in my direction. “I didn’t plan on keeping it. I only wanted some codes off them.”

  My eyebrow rose, and I blew out the match. “Codes? What are you talking about?”

  “Codes that lead to a huge fortune—waiting to be taken. That figurine is special. Right after the Millstadt woman killed her husband with it, two warlock brothers bought it from the original estate.”

  Given my wry expression, I was sure he could tell I wasn’t convinced. The second head had fallen asleep, again, but the first became animated. “It’s all true. Over the past century, Vladimir and Nikolai have fought over their family fortune. They hid pieces of it from each other. Not too long ago, their feud got heated and one brother killed the other. It was gruesome, actually—”

  “—get to the point.” Although he did have my attention—slightly. I was curious since their names sounded Russian.

  “Oh, yes, the surviving brother thought his sibling’s hidden stash was lost and gone forever—until he discovered that his brother, who was a metalsmith and sculptor, left behind codes on vases, figurines, and jewelry boxes. Pretty much on everything he collected. These codes have to be a message about where the money is hidden. Skeptics say it’s just a leprechaun scam. But I’ve got a few codes, so I know there are more. I’m going to get them all.”

  After listening to the zmee’s story, I felt kind of sorry for him. What did this guy have to do to finance his code-hunting operation? An operation which most likely was a fruitless one.

  “Why don’t you march—umm—slide back into your little house, get my property, scribble down your little codes, and then give it back.” See? I could be nice when I tried.

  “Now?”

  My chest tightened as my anxiety rose. “No. Yesterday evening.”

  The first head’s voice turned into a whine. “I can’t do it that fast. The codes are microscopic and hidden under glamours. They’d require hours with my equipment.”

  “Well, I paid for it, and I’m not waiting here a few hours for you to do a full body cavity search on my prize.”

  “I’m more than willing to barter for time with the Millstadt figurine.”

  As if he had anything that would interest me in this dump.

  “Miss Stravinsky.” I raised my eyebrow at the zmee, and he cocked one of his heads. “I’ve seen your username on the supernatural auction websites. I know what you like. I’m sure you’d like something in my collection.”

  My mouth moved before my common sense kicked in. “Whatcha got?”

  For the next couple of minutes, the zmee did an awkward backward movement to get into its house. The urge to offer a push felt like the most polite thing I could do, but who in their right mind got up close and personal with a three-headed dragon to shove it into its house?

  Eventually, the dragon got inside his home, and I heard him rummaging around for several minutes. Above me, the nymph continued to sit in the same spot, her hate projected at me like poison-tipped arrows. Still not over me threatening to burn down her tree, eh? Let her stew for now, she’d get an apology before I left. It was the least I could do.

  Eventually, the dragon reemerged and stretched out in front of me again. Slowly, it opened the palm of one of its many hands. Two items lay in the middle. The first item, a papier-mâché boy, looked pretty good. Not a holiday trinket by any means, but the craftsmanship was top notch. The piece didn’t have any scratches and the painted face was done with a steady hand. Very nice.

  But the one on the left, another wooden figure, made me almost squeal with delight. A beautiful nutcracker, in pristine condition, wore a set of hand-sewn clothes. My antiquarian eye told me he had to be over a hundred years old. Tufts of white hair on his head matched his beard. With his massive chompers, the figurine grinned mischievously at me, and I couldn’t help but return the gesture.

  He was so perfect. I reached out to touch it.

  But the zmee pulled its hand back. “There’s something else I need—if you want something as valuable as this nutcracker.”

  “Keep talking.” He could ask for my salary this month, and I’d probably give it up. Goodness gracious, that nutcracker was gorgeous. A perfect addition to my collection. The papier-mâché boy was just a bonus.

  “I’d like another set of codes. They’re engraved on the outside of an antique compass, circa 1713. The owner won’t let me near them, and I can’t sneak in to take a high resolution photo.”

  This started to smell fishy. What kept him from buying the compass?

  “Where is this owner?”

  “About two hours west of here. In a lumber mill. It’s not hard to find at all since it’s in a display case in the main building.” He shrugged as if anybody could march up to a workplace unseen and snap a bunch of pictures.

  “So no stealing? Just photos.”

  “Yes, but with my special camera, of course.”

  For a second, I almost said no. But I couldn’t help obsessing about the giddy feeling I got when I almost touched the nutcracker’s coat. How soft it appeared. How clean. I had to have it. With a voice that trembled at first, I replied, “As long as you keep your part of the bargain, I’ll be back.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Driving to Pennsylvania: easy enough. Casually pulling into the parking lot at the lumber mill outside of Allentown: anyone could pull that off. But as I stared from the massive building to the open expanse of concrete and cars, I felt wary. This should be simple. All I had to do was stroll into the lobby, approach the receptionist with a cheesy smile, and ask her to take some photos of their glass displays. Any person off the street who appeared mentally coherent should be able to do it.

  As I walked around the cars, a thought came to mind: Why hadn’t the dragon done this particular thing? Maybe he’d tried to use the nymph to fetch it? The zmee could’ve used another glamour to change the nymph’s appearance. Something wasn’t right here.

  The factory gate had been open when I drove through, but the whole property had a ten-foot high fence. I spotted enough security lights to rival a penitentiary.

  The stench of chemicals made my nose wrinkle. As I approached the complex, a bitter tang coursed through my nostrils and raced down my tongue. Even at this distance, the loud noises from the mill reverberated down my arms, making me twitchy. With every step, my heels clicked on the sidewalk as I got closer and closer. Workers, a few of them werewolves from the afternoon shift, began to pour out of a side entrance to fill the parking lot. The sweat from their labors added to my unease. They smelled unclean—in a way I’d find hard to describe to someone with a poor sense of smell
like a human. It was something they couldn’t wash off, no matter how much they scrubbed their skin.

  A few of the men’s eyes followed me as I approached the main entrance. Pencil skirts weren’t a part of the uniform here. I ignored them and stayed focused on the task at hand. This was easy. I could do it no problem.

  Once I got inside the lobby, the receptionist was another matter. First of all, it wasn’t a woman. It was a leprechaun—hidden under the heavy glamour of a woman–and it wasn’t the only one. All around me, from the people in the cubicles behind the receptionist desk to the mail boy delivering boxes between the rooms in the back, were leprechauns. It was like a cereal box of Lucky Charms exploded and magically delicious little people had taken over.

  All of them turned to look at me. And not in a good way.

  The receptionist, or should I say the leprechaun, stared me down with an expression that said, “How can I not help you?”

  Working with the supernatural goods at The Bends had taught me a few things about magic—especially the magic from creatures like leprechauns. Werewolves like me shouldn’t be able to see through their magic, but my goblin boss’ sparkly tricks of the trade had gotten under my skin a bit too much. He had leprechaun safeguards all over the shop and always complained about them.

  “If a goblin makes a nickel, those damn leprechauns will be there with their hands out ready to collect 4.5 cents of it,” he’d rant. “And those greedy bastards wanted to offer me protection, ha! My first wife’s peg leg would offer more protection.”

  Ignorance is bliss. Especially with what I could see. The leprechaun receptionist leaned forward, giving me a better view of the top of his head. Short red hair covered his scalp. Even longer hair grew from his chin and brushed against his chest. His sneer revealed teeth that had yellowed with time. When the glint of magic twinkled in his green eyes, I couldn’t help but swallow with nervousness.

  “You don’t belong here.” The words were said with a strong Irish burr—in a manner that was a fact—not a warning.

  “I-I just came—”

  “And now you’re leavin’,” he finished for me. His nostrils flared, and then I knew my mistake.

  My nose was likely as good as theirs. Thanks to my employer, I probably stank of goblins. As to what it smelled like—I didn’t know. I was a werewolf who’d cavorted/stock shelves/handed cold cash to the enemy.

  Four leprechauns dressed in business suits approached the receptionist desk. Whatever magic flared from them smelled strange, like peppermint mixed with decayed earth. A sweet death. It drew my curiosity, but also warned me away.

  “And now I’m leaving,” I whispered. With a quick glance, I noticed my target, the compass down the hallway—no more than twenty feet away. An opportunity missed.

  There was no way I could get in there like this. I backed out, keeping my eyes to the floor, but my wolf watched them from the corner of its eye.

  As I walked out, I weighed my options. The thought of giving up brushed against my mind, but the driving needed to claim what was mine swatted that away. I needed the Millstadt figurine and the nutcracker. To have them, well, it wouldn’t complete my collection. Nothing would do that. But they were something more for me to cherish, to make me feel a little less hollow. And that damn zmee was holding them hostage just so he could get a few codes that probably didn’t work anyway.

  I couldn’t simply waltz back in the lobby again. They had shifts twenty-four hours a day, and I’d bet they were all leprechauns ready to give me the stink eye. The odds were also against me since I was estranged from my wolf pack. Once I pulled out of the lot, I knew I had to deal with the hand I’d been dealt—and that meant asking for help from my little brother.

  By the time I drove back into South Toms River, the sun had set. The moon was a pale disk in the sky—a stark contrast to the pink moon, which had bathed the landscape with a gray cloud cover nearly a week ago. During the full moons, I hunted in wolf form like any other werewolf, but I had no pack—so I hunted alone.

  I drove straight to the Last Mark Bar and Grill off Dover Road. The likelihood of my brother enjoying happy hour was high.

  The parking lot was full, typical for a Friday night. Even in the dimly lit lot, I spotted my brother’s blue Dodge truck. He’d gotten one of the spots close to the entrance. Apparently, he’d gotten here nice and early to start off the fun.

  I strolled inside, trying to ignore the assault of bad smells. This place was like any other tavern you’d encounter. Patrons sat and drank at a long bar in the middle. Along the sides in the no-smoking area, not that it was really no-smoking since smoke spread everywhere, folks ate dinner at small tables. A few waitresses swarmed around customers with drinks and food. They had to dance around the more inebriated customers.

  I scanned the crowd. So many sounds. So much foul drink and cigarette smoke. The place was also a haven for germs. I never ate here. Even when I had been with the pack, I loathed this restaurant. If I really wanted a burger, I’d eat at Archie’s, the only local burger place that cleaned to my standards. When I’d spent more time with my family, we had dinners together. When Mom didn’t feel like cooking dinner—which was rare since she practically lived in her kitchen—we used to eat at one of the local Italian restaurants. That was before fears about what weird stuff I touched began to ruin any outing with them.

  My brother Alex was in a booth in the back, sitting with two girls. His co-conspirator in breaking girls’ hearts, Miles, sat across from him. As I weaved around tables, I tried to think of how I’d explain everything to him. I could’ve called, but face-to-face was a better way of inducing a guilt trip. I was an expert at making a sad face. See, Alex? Your sister needs you. Remember when we used to play with our toys? Yours were broken, but I thought about you and shared mine?

  A few werewolves from the pack sat here and there in the bar. I avoided their eyes and kept my head hung low. I was considered rogue among them, but they tolerated my presence. Why feel threatened by the lowest rung on the ladder? According to the Code, or the laws werewolves used to govern themselves, they didn’t have to pay attention to me. I was as insignificant as the humans.

  Alex noticed my approach and nodded my way. The two girls at the table yelled at him to get his attention while gesturing wildly, and then they got impatient and got up to leave. Miles said nothing to them as well. Had the apocalypse come and my brother lost his sexual mojo?

  I couldn’t see the girls’ faces as they left down another aisle, but a smell remained in their wake. It was ethereal and sweet. Like the earth magic of that nymph who wanted to cuss me out this afternoon. Nymphs didn’t frequent where I worked so I didn’t see their kind often.

  When I reached the table, the guys smiled. Almost like they shared a secret.

  “Hey, Alex.” I said.

  “What you doing here, Nat?” Alex took a sip of his beer.

  My blond-haired, blue-eyed brother wasn’t younger than me by much. Just a few years. But that didn’t stop him from trying to act like he was older than me.

  Miles slid out and offered a seat. “Wanna a drink, Nat?”

  The smooth way he said my name was full of various meanings: You free tonight? Is that pencil skirt of yours finally ready to come off?

  The answer to all those questions was no—even though, like Alex, Miles was considered popular with the ladies. Most of the local women stared at this booth with envy. They weren’t as young and pretty as the girls who had left, but the lady cougars on the prowl were willing to snag young prey like my brother. Older workers from the mills to women in their forties apparently loved to check out what was hanging on the rack over in this corner.

  “I’ll pass on the drink.” There wasn’t a damn thing I’d eat in here unless it came in a pre-packaged wrapper.

  I sat and Miles followed. The wooden seat was warm from where he’d sat, and his cologne filled my nose. A rather nice one actually. Miles was only a few inches away, but it was hard to not think of him lik
e he was family. I could distinctly recall when Miles came barreling into the house when we were teens. He used to be shy, looking down as he asked for Alex. He knew to respect my parents like a good pup had been taught.

  Now, though, there was something different about Miles. It had been months since I’d seen him. In a town as small as South Toms River, you’d expect to run into old friends more often, but I hardly ever saw him. He hung around Alex, but only in certain places. Ones where I preferred not to venture.

  I kept my hands in my lap. They were far safer there than on the petri dish of a table. It looked like the server hadn’t wiped off the table that well. I peered at a weird smear while Miles spoke. “You smell like chemicals. Where have you been?”

  I sighed. Where do I even begin?

  Miles smiled at me, a rather lopsided one compared to Thorn’s. But Thorn Grantham was long gone. He wasn’t coming back, either. Thinking about my former boyfriend had come up far more than I preferred. Still, it was hard not to make comparisons. Miles had blond hair, like Thorn, cropped close to his head. His chin wasn’t as strong, but his brown eyes and demeanor were friendly. It was nice to feel like I was back among friends for once.

  “So what have you two been up to?” I needed time to figure out my plan of attack.

  “Not much,” Alex said. “Just wrapped up a double date. Went to a movie and then we had a couple of drinks.”

  “What movie did you see?” I asked. And why did their dates stomp off as if they’d said something crazy?

  “Some chick movie they suggested.” Miles leaned back, trying to see if he could check me out under the table.

  “It wasn’t that bad. I kinda hoped Karey wanted to head back to my place for dinner again, but she passed.”

  “Yeah, right. Like you wanted to eat dinner. Instead of watching a movie, you probably wanted to make one.” I snorted and gave my brother the evil eye.

  He didn’t flinch. This wasn’t anything new to him. “She’s nice and all, but I might be getting bored.”