by Alex Stone
Mel groans as she sits across from me. “I just need a few minutes,” she says. Her flawless cream-colored skin is damp with sweat and her cheeks flushed red. Her eyes beg for sleep.
“Gotta love graveyard shift,” I say as I stretch and adjust my posture for conversation. “Off at eight?”
She nods in response.
I sip my coffee. “What’re you doing tonight? This was my fourth night on, so I don’t have to be at the chicken plant again until Thursday evening.”
Mel shrugs. “Nothing much. Abuela said something about helping her sort the herbs.” She rolls her eyes.
I give her a light kick under the table.
“Ow!” Apparently, not as light as I thought. A couple of people jump in our direction, but I glare at them until they return to their business. “Damn,” Mel whispers, rubbing her shin.
“Sorry!” I cringe, hoping I didn’t cause too much damage. I’m not sure why, but Grandma has always hated being called “abuela,” though she doesn’t mind abuelita. I asked her about it once, but she got defensive and changed the subject. Grandma is Mexican, but no one in my family speaks Spanish. Even Grandma isn’t fluent. She sometimes says that she lost much of her heritage because she was an orphan.
Mel interrupts my thoughts. I really am spacing today. “You know she’s only nice to you, right? She treats the rest of us like we’re incompetent or just a plain inconvenience.” I feel a twinge of guilt. I’ve always known Grandma treats me differently than my cousins, but I lived with her for three years of my childhood, so we are closer. We don’t bullshit; we get each other.
“She’s just rough around the edges,” I say.
Mel raises an eyebrow and gives me an amused smile, as if to say, “yeah, right.”
I can’t help but laugh, “Okay, okay, so maybe she’s just a little nicer to me, but that’s because I don’t kiss her ass or walk on eggshells to get her to like me.”
Mel shakes her head. “You are such an ass!”
I gasp with false shock. “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing to a customer. Where’s the owner? Johnny! Oh Johnny!”
“Shush!” Mel says, shaking her head at me again. “You’re rotten, absolutely rotten to the core!” A bell rings, notifying Mel an order is ready. She jumps to her feet. “I’ve got to get back to work. I might call you to save me tonight.”
“Grandma did ask me to pick up a few things for her, so I’ll be stopping by. But I can’t get you out of whatever ordeal she has planned. You know she’s a force of nature.”
“Yeah, but so are you! I’ll talk to you later.” Mel dashes off to retrieve and deliver her tables’ orders.
I finish my first cup of coffee, then down the second. Mel brings me my steak and eggs a few minutes later. I scarf them down and organize my dirty dishes before placing a twenty and a five on the table close to the window. My phone dings. It’s Mom, an SOS involving my brother. This is why I need two cups on Mondays. I eat here often enough to know that my total comes to $15.72, leaving Mel a pretty good tip.
It’s only 8:30 when I pull into my mom’s driveway. I make my way up the three wooden steps to her 1,000 square-foot rancher. She’s already lecturing Michael, my fourteen-year-old brother, when I enter.
“When I say you have to go, I mean you have to go!” she shouts.
Michael throws his hands in the air. “But it’s so stupid! I don’t need school; I’m going to be a carpenter. School’s not for smart people, anyway!”
Mom huffs, “You cannot drop out.”
“But—"
“It’s illegal; you’re too young.” She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes.
“What do you know?” He turns and mumbles more under his breath, but I hear him. “Didn’t even fucking finish.” Immediately, I feel my face go hot. He did not fucking go there.
I step in his way. “Uh-uh,” I say biting the inside of my cheek so I don’t cross a line like he did.
His mouth drops. “You heard me?” he screeches, his eyes wide and voice cracking at the end.
“Hell yeah, I did!” I exclaim, half lecturing and half amused. “Now turn your butt around and apologize! And watch your mouth.”
“It shouldn’t count. You can’t use wolf powers on me!”
“That’s not how it works, and you know it.” I make a condescending circle motion with my finger. “Now, turn around.”
With a huff, he turns, shoulders slumped, and looks toward our mother, who just looks exhausted. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask. Mom never sticks up for herself, not to him or either of our dads.
“Being a punk.”
I manage to stifle the smile that is eager to escape, but Mom gives a slight chuckle. “Good enough,” I say, rolling my eyes before turning to Mom. “Do you want me to take him?”
She yawns, “If you don’t mind. I’ve got to be to work in—” As Mom check’s her phone, her eyes go wide, looking as if they’re about to pop out of her head. “—fifteen minutes!” she finishes, already scrambling to get her coat and keys.
I wave Michael along to my car, a green 1998 Honda Civic. She’s a bit beat up but is always reliable. We arrive at the high school a few minutes after nine. I walk Michael to the front office. Before I have finished signing him in, the bell rings, and he dashes off to his next class. I thank the receptionist and head back to Ol’ Reliable.
Deciding to get my errands over with, I make my way to the local bank and withdraw fifty dollars before making the longer drive downtown. I pull in to Alice’s Apothecary, a small shop next to a tobacco outlet run by none other than Alice, a tall, thick woman with long, purple hair and a star tattoo on her neck. She smiles sweetly when I enter. Today, she wears a silk blue shawl over a black shirt and jeans.
“Morning, Tala. In for some pre-bed bud?” She wiggles her eyebrows. Alice, unofficially and not-so-subtly, sells marijuana on the side. I used to partake before bed to help me sleep, but I haven’t recently. Employees at Mason’s Chicken Factory are subject to random drug tests, and my state hasn’t fully legalized yet. I don’t have anything against weed, but I don’t think it is worth getting fired over.
I laugh, “No, just need some angelica, bay laurel, and anise for my grandmother.”
Alice nods, then turns to the drawer-covered wall behind her. As Alice collects my order, I look around. It seems she’s reorganized. Her crystals are on a table, oils organized on shelves, and the recycled clothing on a small rack. There are a few bookshelves lined with books on nature, the Grateful Dead, and Wicca. The register sits on a glass counter which displays a variety of homemade jewelry. Several rocks and stones are arranged decoratively around the jewelry with some necklaces draped over some of the stones. My reflection gazes back at me from a polished black rock. High cheekbones. Tanned skin with an olive undertone. Full lips. And resting bitch-face. Yep! That’s me. Back in school, a boy once told me that I’d be hot if I weren’t so terrifying. He wasn’t wrong.
Alice turns and places my items on the counter before ringing me up. I pay, and as I turn to leave, she says, “Have a nice day…I hope everything is okay.”
Her final statement takes me aback. “What do you mean?” I ask, stopping in my tracks. Alice knows that my knowledge on herbs isn’t extensive. That’s my eccentric grandmother’s thing.
Alice gives a soft smile. “The herbs your grandmother is having you pick up all have something in common: their protective properties.”
I nod, trying not to let on that Alice’s statement has surprised me. I don’t believe in this stuff, I remind myself as I leave.
I get home to my apartment a little before noon. Damn. I’m not getting much sleep today. I lock my door, set Grandma’s herbs on the counter, then close my blackout curtains before crashing into bed. Sleep quickly consumes me, but dreams elude me.
What feels like two seconds later, my phone starts going off. It cannot be five o’clock already! With a groan, I roll over to turn off my alarm, only it’s not m
y alarm going off. It’s my ringer, and it’s only two o’clock. I blink some sleep out of my eyes. It’s the high school.
“Hello?” I answer, trying to sound as alert as possible.
“Hi, this is Deloris McDougle from North High School. I’m trying to reach the emergency contact for Michael Ward.”
I bolt upright. She’s got my attention. “Yes, this is his sister, Tala. Is he okay?”
“I’m afraid there has been an incident,” she says. “Michael was involved in a fight and is suspended for the next week. Since we cannot get a hold of a parent or guardian, we need you to pick him up.”
My heart rate increases as my anxiety heightens. “I’ll be right there. Thank you.” Deloris gives some professional reply, but I am no longer listening. After ending the call, I quickly pull my hair into a ponytail and grab my keys. In fewer than two minutes, I am out the door. What the hell? Michael has never been the fighting type. Sure, he’s prone to bicker with Mom, but this is something else entirely. It is so out of character that I have to wonder…
Grandma had said that a few months before Michael’s first turn, we’d be able to smell the wolf on him. With him being fourteen, we were starting to think he would be normal like Mom. This could be it, though. Maybe he’s about to go full wolf and is spazzing out like I did.
I press down harder on the gas.
Mom swore that since both of our dads were human, it was extremely unlikely that both of us would be werewolves, especially since her dad had been human, too. Then again, she had sworn I was human and that even if I were a wolf, I wouldn’t turn until I was at least thirteen. We all know how wrong she was about that.
I turn sharply into the school parking lot, realizing I had better slow the hell down unless I want to be taken away in cuffs. I pull into the closest parking spot and power walk through the front door. As I enter the front office, Michael is sitting in a chair across from the front desk with his head down. He looks up as I approach. I feel my eyes go wide. A shiner is already forming on his right eye, and he has a large bruise on the left side of his face. If the dried blood around his nostrils wasn’t an indication that his nose had been bleeding, the smell of the blood would’ve given it away.
I force myself to keep a pleasant look on my face as I say too quickly to the woman at the front desk, “Hi, I’m Tala Ward. I was asked to pick up my brother, Michael. He was in a fight. Do I need to sign something?”
The woman gives a forced smile. “Not exactly. You may pick him up, but we will still need a parent or guardian to come in and sign some paperwork.”
I nod. “Okay. Thank you…What exactly happened?”
The woman drops the faux smile. “I don’t know, hon. You’d have to ask the vice principal, but he’s speaking with another young man right now.”
Again, I nod before waving Michael along. I don’t want to stay and wait for the other kid. It’s not worth the risk of Michael wolfing out. As we get into the car, we’re both silent. I take a few minutes to try to smell him without his noticing. Nothing, I smell nothing. Just Michael.
“So, what happened?” I finally ask when we are down the road a ways.
Michael shrugs.
I glance at him quickly with my brows raised before turning my attention back to the road. “You know you can tell me.”
Silence.
“Nothing? If you don’t speak up, I’m just going to assume the worst. I mean, seriously? A fight, Michael? You know better! You know how badly I messed things up for myself. Why on earth would you pick a fight with some kid?”
“I didn’t pick a fight!” he yells. Finally, a response. “I bumped into some new guy in the hall. It pis-made him angry, and he decked me. He’s some gym rat. A junior. He barely came out with a scratch.”
Damn. So, it’s not a wolf thing. The kid got whooped by some buff upperclassman. I guess Mom was right. Aside from feeling slightly relieved and guilty, I’m a bit pissed myself. Who goes around beating up freshmen who bump into them? It’s not like I can technically do anything. Mom’s got to go up to the school, anyway. I decide to tell her about it later and hope she investigates further.
The rest of the ride to Mom’s is silent. When I pull up, I ask Michael if he has his key. He nods without looking at me and gets out. Once he’s inside and the door shut behind him, I head back to my apartment for some much-needed shut eye. By the time I lie down, I’ve only got another two hours before I need to get up. This time, I silence my phone. If there is another minor crisis, someone else can fly to the rescue. I put on my sleep mask, put in my AirPods, and drown out the world with some Ed Sheeran, my guilty pleasure. Before I know it, I have drifted off.
Chapter 2
By the time my alarm goes off, it’s a little over an hour before dusk. With a stretch, I quickly get out of bed and follow my normal “morning” routine. Within an hour, I am out the door and on my way to Grandma’s with her herbs. As I pull into the driveway, I see Mel’s silver Toyota. Night is just beginning to fall, but the trees around Grandma’s house make it seem darker than it actually is. I jog up the stairs and walk in; the old screen door crashes shut behind me, notifying the house of my arrival.
“Tala?” I hear Mel call out. I make my way around the corner to see Mel, who mouths “Thank you” at me. I offer her a faux scared smile before continuing further into the house, until I am in the dining room. Packets of herbs cover the long table which seats ten, or thirteen if Grandma gets her way. Some homemade candles fill a box on the floor. Empty organizers that resemble tackle boxes are stacked high on the far wall.
Grandma beams when she sees me. “Tala!” she exclaims before rushing over to hug me, as if she didn’t just see me yesterday. Grandma gives me a tight squeeze before letting me go. Without skipping a beat, she turns toward the kitchen. “Ray!” she screeches. “Have you finished with my sage yet?”
“Almost,” I hear Ray call. Grandma shakes her head at me and rolls her eyes. Okay, so maybe Mel did have a point at the diner. Grandma looks like me, or I look like her. High cheekbones. Full lips. Everything matches down to the piercing dark eyes that give us both resting bitch-face. She doesn’t come across like the grandma that bakes cookies, more like the grandma that mixes you a Bloody Mary then cusses you for making bad decisions. The biggest differences between us are her wrinkles and darker skin. While my skin is more olive toned, Grandma’s is light brown.
About thirty seconds later, Ray strolls in carrying a box full of bundled sage. Grandma grows the sage herself, so we, I mean, she, has to dry it and wrap it with cords herself. Ray smiles. “Here you go, Grandma. I just finished making the last bundle.” He sets the box on one of the dining chairs. “You’ve got a little over four dozen,” he says wiping the sweat from his brow. At six-three, Ray is a full foot taller than me. Ray’s mother, my Uncle Carl’s wife Angie, is black, so Ray is slightly darker than Grandma. He’s thin and has a handsome square jawline that he keeps clean-shaven. I’ve heard several women fawn over him, but he’s usually oblivious. If he wasn’t so shy, he’d probably be married with thirty kids.
Grandma gives a long, exasperated sigh. “Shit…that’s not nearly enough. I’ll need at least six dozen more. Let’s see…” Grandma hurries about, counting this and that, seeming to take inventory of her supplies.
Mel, Ray, and I share a look. “Grandma?” I call.
She doesn’t look up. “Yes?” I walk over to her and place a hand on hers, ceasing her counting. She looks up at me, then sighs again.
“Grandma, what is going on?”
“Nothing,” she snaps before turning to continue her work. “I just want to reorganize this before the summer. Spring cleaning is important, you know. Otherwise, the place will turn into a cluttered mess!”
We all tense. Mel and Ray share a concerned look before Mel opens her mouth then closes it. She looks at me and widens her blue eyes, as if to say “Well?” This is not normal. Raina Ward is anything but frantic and anxious, and she sure as hell has never cared a
bout clutter.
I sigh. “Bullshit.”
Grandma stops in her tracks. “Excuse me?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Bullshit.”
Grandma’s brows raise so high they nearly reach her hairline. She scoffs and places her hands on her hips. “Tala Ward, I know that you know better than to mouth off at me!”
I shake my head and cross my arms. “I’m not mouthing off, Grandma; I’m just calling bullshit, like you always taught me to.” Grandma’s olive skin begins to redden, but before she can go off, I continue, “Ray, Mel, and I all know something’s going on, Grandma, and you’re not telling us. We’re not twelve anymore. I’m the youngest, and I’m twenty-two. Hell, Ray’s like forty—”
Ray huffs, “Thirty..”
“Whatever! The point is that we’re old enough to handle whatever it is you’re trying to keep from us. We can tell you’re worried, so stop trying to hide it. Plus, Alice gave you away when I went to pick up your herbs. What do you need protective herbs for if there’s not something going on?”
For once, Grandma has nothing to say for a minute. “That’s my business. If you don’t want to help, you can leave.” Grandma closes her lips tightly until they form a straight line. She then proceeds to carry on, fidgeting with various herbs and other objects, as if none of us are there.
I look to Mel and Ray, but they only shrug. I throw my hands in the air. “For God’s sake! You are the most stubborn—”
“Watch yourself, Tala,” Grandma turns on me quickly, pointing her finger at me. “I do what I do to protect my family. What’s my business is mine. You have no right—”
“No right? Are you serious? This is my family, too! Just let us help you!”
A low, guttural growl escapes my grandmother’s throat, and her eyes flash, meeting mine in a challenge. My tiny grandmother, my abuelita, seems to grow several inches as she straightens. I stare back at her, the heat of my body rising before I remember myself and briefly look away in submission. When I look back up, her eyes are still raging. “Get out,” she says, quietly but firmly, her silent wrath more terrifying than her shouts. She points to the door. “All of you.” When we don’t move, she growls once more, “Now!” shaking as if about to shift.
