by Megan Morgan
Chapter 2
Lorena had planted a little flower garden next to the house. She’d never been good with plants, but something about being so close to nature took her back to her childhood on her grandmother’s farm and the flower gardens Lorena watched her put in. She bought flower seeds, bulbs, and tools, and did research on soil conditions, how much water and sun each flower needed, and how to prune and weed. After all, she was a scientist.
Deacon tilled a patch of dirt next to the house in early spring. She bordered it with bricks and decorated with cute plastic bumblebee garden stakes. She kept a flower book by her side and Google open on her phone. The experience was confusing and filled with errors at first, but she eventually had some surprising results.
One was that anything bothered to grow at all. Another was how peaceful the digging and planting made her feel.
The morning after her dream, she sat on the grass next to her garden and gazed at the flowers bursting out of it: snapdragons, begonias, and petunias, all lush and healthy. When she leaned over to smell them, she swore they reached out to her, that their petals unfurled and stretched, like the day out in the valley when she’d held the sprig of white flowers Deacon gave her.
When she dug her hands into the dirt—she loved to do so without gloves—she sensed an energy, a pulse of life that flowed through the ground and infused her with a persistent buzz. She imagined she could hear the plants talk to her.
Sometimes she talked back, in whispers so Deacon wouldn’t hear and she wouldn’t feel stupid.
Deacon walked around the corner of the house. She squinted up at him.
“I made the potato salad.” He stood over her. “And the meat is marinating. Everything should be ready in time for us to go over this afternoon.”
She smiled. “My master chef.”
“And you’re my master gardener.”
She stroked a fingertip over one red petal. The stalk shivered. “Well, I don’t know about a ‘master,’ but I’m getting better at it. I’m trying to be a good witch.”
“You’re the best witch.”
She caressed the downy petal, as though petting it. “We’re going to have a good day.”
“I hope so.”
Lorena had attended more cookouts since she’d relocated to Blue Ditch than she had in the entire rest of her life combined. As soon as the weather broke and the sun came out, Deacon’s family took to grilling things. Lorena learned how to whip up a batch of macaroni or fruit salad on short notice, and even make a few desserts. She wasn’t nearly as good as Deacon, but she now possessed culinary skill beyond peeling the plastic off a microwave dinner and pushing a button.
When they arrived at Deacon’s parents’ house around two o’clock that afternoon, the competition was on, as usual.
“Look at her.” Stacy stepped up beside Lorena, beer in hand. “Judging things like she’s at a bake-off. Wonder if we’re up to her standard this time?”
They stood on the deck. An awning had been placed over the food tables. Beneath it, Hazel—Deacon’s grandmother—puttered around and inspected the dishes, tugging back plastic wrap, lifting lids. Going by her scowl and the occasional shake of her head, they weren’t doing well.
Lorena leaned on the railing. “She told me last time I messed up the marshmallow fluff. How can you mess up marshmallows? She said it wasn’t fluffy enough.”
Stacy was a tall, dark-haired woman with a deep tan and chocolate brown eyes. Zeke picked a good witch for his wife. She had become Lorena’s best friend, their bond strengthened by shared magic and their disdain of Hazel. Today, they had both pulled their hair up in a sloppy bun and wore red tank tops, in different shades. They were like sisters. Except Lorena had lots of boobs and Stacy was lean and willowy.
“If she had her way”—Stacy took a drink of beer—“she’d make all the food, all the time. And then we’d have to put up with her God-awful unseasoned greens and flat cornbread.”
Lorena flashed back to Melanie, and Hazel giving her a hard time about her lack of cooking skills. Sometimes Lorena had to remind herself that “Melanie” didn’t exist and not to feel sorry for her.
“Hey, Grammy!” Deacon hollered from the grill, where he stood with his father and Zeke. “You bring me one of them muffins Lorena made? I got a hankering for a piece while this beef is cooking.”
Stacy leaned close to Lorena and whispered, “You’ll ruin your dinner.”
“You’ll ruin your dinner!” Hazel crowed. “You can wait an hour, can’t you boy?”
Stacy and Lorena giggled. Lorena stepped back from the railing and nudged Stacy in the ribs, then walked down off the deck.
Lorena marched across the grass to the awning and stepped under it, the air beneath thick with the scent of food. Hazel glared at her. Lorena whipped the towel off her basket of muffins, plucked one out, and covered it again. She met Hazel’s hard, glittering gaze as she walked away, toward Deacon. She struggled to keep a poker face.
She sauntered over to the grill, hand held out with the muffin resting in her palm. “My love.”
Deacon smiled wide. He took the muffin and grabbed her by the wrist. He pulled her to him, into the curtain of grill smoke, and kissed her.
“You’re a grown man,” she murmured as she drew back. “Enjoy your muffin.”
Hazel hustled away from the food and toward the house. Stacy saluted Lorena from the deck.
“Our guest of honor ought to be here soon.” Zeke was flipping steaks on the grill, a beer in his other hand. “You reckon we can get him into a game of tackle football, Deacon?”
Deacon grunted around a mouthful of muffin. “Reckon he ain’t gonna have a choice.”
“You boys just treat him like you always would.” Ray, Deacon’s father, nodded to them. “We all gotta act normal. We want him to feel like he belongs here.”
Jack arrived shortly. Though he’d been in town for a few days, Lorena hadn’t seen him yet. He’d been staying with his parents, and though Deacon had gone to visit him, Lorena feared that seeing her right away would be too much of a reminder and too overwhelming.
She stood by while Jack received hugs, back-slappings, and general maulings. She forced a big smile when he stepped up to her.
“Jack.”
He swept her up in a tight hug. She squeaked. His arms were nearly as strong as Deacon’s—or probably, were. He just went easy on her. She wrapped her arms around him too. He smelled of cologne and shampoo.
“I’m so happy to see you again,” she said. “I’m glad you’re home.”
He drew back, hands on her shoulders. He’d gotten thinner. His hair curled past his collar, shaggier than before, and his facial hair was thicker.
“I’m glad to be back. It’s really good to see you, too. I hear you made an honest man out of my cousin. I like to see Deacon behaving himself.”
She chuckled. “I think you overestimate me.”
His smile was real, but a deep, permanent sadness shone in his eyes. She couldn’t imagine how hard it was for him to be back, no matter how much he needed his family.
Deacon thrust a meat fork with a huge slab of steak on the end of it in Jack’s face. “Lookit that. I can still cook a cow better than you.”
“You ain’t even let me near the grill yet.”
“I got five bucks says I can cook a perfect medium rare and you can’t.”
And just like that, things were back to normal.
Lorena hung back from the festivities and kept an eye on Hazel. The old woman buzzed into the center of the commotion and circled around Jack. Miraculously, she didn’t bring up how she’d been right about Melanie all along. Clem—Deacon’s grandfather, not the dog—seemed unwilling and powerless to stop her meddling. He was so docile and obedient. No wonder Deacon named his dog after him. Lorena remained convinced Hazel had a spell or potion binding her husband, the same thing Melanie had done to Jack.
While the boys had their grill-off, Lorena took Clem—the dog—down to the dog pen
at the bottom of the yard so he could socialize with the other dogs. Ray had three of his own and Zeke and Stacy had brought their two. They would be allowed out to romp once everyone ate. Letting them out before then could result in swiped steaks and overturned picnic tables.
“Come on, boy,” Lorena coaxed Clem. “You can have fun with your cousins, too.”
Clem wasn’t a very social dog and Deacon left him out because he never caused trouble. She’d been insisting Deacon stop babying him, though. After all, he was a hero.
The other dogs barked and jumped around the interior of the fence. Clem gazed at them with plaintive, wary eyes.
Lorena sat down on the grass next to the fence and patted the spot beside her. “Come on, you attacked a Wolvite. You can’t say hi to other dogs?”
The dogs gathered in front of her and poked their noses through the links in the fence. Lorena patted their snouts and let them lick her hand. Clem sat beside her, ears drooped.
“I know it’s hard. But if Jack can hop back in, you can too.”
They sat there for a while. The other dogs eventually ran off to play. Clem stretched out beside her and rested his head on her thigh.
“Look how much fun they’re having.” Lorena sat back on her hands. “That could be you in there.”
Clem sighed and huffed.
A few minutes later, footsteps swished through the grass behind her. She looked around.
Jack approached, a beer in hand, sunglasses on. “What’s going on down here? They in jail?”
The dogs ran excitedly to the fence. Jack stuck his arm over and patted them as they jumped and yipped.
“I’m trying to convince Clem to get in and play,” she said. “You know he’s a wimp.”
“He’s always been an outcast. You know Deacon found him in an old barn he was helping take down? No one knows how he got there or who he belonged to. He was about six months old at the time.”
“The rescued stray. My favorite story.”
Jack continued petting the dogs. “He’s always been the reluctant sort. Guess maybe he came from hard times.”
She resisted pointing out that though Clem may have been reluctant, he acted, and acted boldly, when it was important.
Jack stepped away from the fence and squatted beside her, beer between his knees. He patted Clem’s back. “So you decided to stay in Blue Ditch.”
“I always liked field work anyway. Specializing in one thing is easier. Although…” She wasn’t sure if she should bring up Wolvites yet. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll have work here. There isn’t much going on. I’m afraid Dr. Winston will find me superfluous.”
“I reckon there aren’t many left around here. Those that survived, they probably had the sense to get away.”
“I’ve found a few signs. But I don’t know if there’s enough to be worth studying.”
Jack looked toward the trees on the other side of the dog pen. “I don’t reckon they’ll ever be gone from here completely. They like it here. And knowing what we know now, I wouldn’t be surprised nohow if they got their backs up again.”
“Knowing what we know now, it’s become a completely different field of study. Dr. Winston wants to know about their human forms. But I don’t know if right here, right now, I can help him with that.”
Jack stopped petting Clem. “I reckon their human forms aren’t their natural forms. It ain’t what they are.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I been thinking about it. When we kill ‘em, they stay animals. You ain’t never seen a dead Wolvite turn into a human, have you? The animal form must be their base form. They can just turn into humans when they want to. Sorta like a reverse werewolf.”
Lorena pondered that. “According to what Abernathy said, only witches and other humans that they allow can see their human forms. Maybe it’s just—some kind of magic that creates the illusion of their Wolvite form.”
“Why wouldn’t you see them as humans when they die, then? You’re a witch.”
He had a good point.
“They’re clever.” Jack took a sip of his beer. “More than we thought, if they been playing this game as long as they have, tricking the world into thinking they’re just dumb animals.”
“Not that clever. I mean, tricking the world is what got so many of them killed.”
“I suppose so. But it’s what almost got this whole town overrun, too.”
They fell into silence. Lorena looked down at Clem. He was now asleep.
“I’m glad you stayed,” Jack said. “You make Deacon happy. It’s good to see him happy.”
She smiled. “He makes me happy too. That’s why I hope I don’t have to find a new job that takes me away from him.” She paused. “I’m glad you’re back. You make him happy too. He needs someone to make bets with. Who won, by the way?”
Jack shook his head. “Him, of course. It’s okay, I’ll win my five bucks back on something soon enough.”
She chuckled. Clem stretched with a soft whine. She patted his side.
Jack looked down at his beer can. “By the way, you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. I’ve dealt with things. It’s gonna be much easier on me if y’all don’t act like nothing ever happened.” He looked up at her. “I mean that. Things ain’t gonna be normal for a while, but I’ll get there. Being in denial won’t do nothing for me.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m dancing around things. I just…we all want you to be okay here again. Your family has missed you.”
“Yeah, I know. We’re all gonna have to get right together.”
He rose from his squatting position. She tilted her head back and looked up at him. He towered over her, not as tall as Deacon, but damn close.
“Reckon we ought to go get some grub.” He nodded toward the house. “Before that bunch vacuums it all up.” He looked down at Clem. “Maybe it’s all just an act so he can stay out of the pen and get some chicken legs. He could be a dang sight smarter than the rest of them.”
Clem lifted his head sharply and looked at him, as though Jack had spilled his secrets. Lorena cracked up laughing.
The food was amazing, the perfect storm of southern cuisine prepared by skilled hands and meat-searing men. Anything home cooked still delighted her. How she hadn’t packed on a hundred pounds by now was a marvel.
Sitting in a lawn chair with a heaped up plate of food and a beer in her cup holder, Lorena watched as Deacon, Jack, and Zeke stood together, holding their own plates and yammering at each other between mouthfuls. Deacon was lit up in a way she hadn’t seen since Jack left.
Stacy plunked down in the chair beside her. “Don’t eat the collards. She under-seasoned them again.”
Lorena pushed at the dab of collards she’d wedged on her plate. “I just took some to be polite.”
“That was a beautiful move with the muffin, earlier. If you’re lucky, she won’t talk to you for weeks.”
Hazel hovered around the food tables and made sure everyone filled up their plates. Lorena, ever paranoid, watched her hands to make sure she didn’t slip anything in the food. Lorena had hinted her concerns to Stacy, though never fully came right out and said it. She didn’t want to tear Deacon’s family apart.
Lorena got up to get another biscuit. Unfortunately, this brought her close to the table where Hazel stood. The old woman piled a plate with food. She eyed Lorena over her glasses as Lorena snatched up a biscuit.
“You didn’t make Deacon his plate.” Hazel slapped potato salad on the heap. “You ought to make your man his plate first, before you go digging in. That’s what a good woman does.”
Lorena looked over at Deacon, who was shoveling food in his mouth. “He’s a big boy. I wouldn’t want to overfeed him.” She glanced at the plate in Hazel’s hands. Definitely for Clem.
“You can certainly feed him muffins, though.” She turned and fluttered off, calling for her husband.
The old man came to her at once.
Lorena s
hook her head and started to turn away, but something on the table caught her eye. She froze and her heart skipped a beat.
A little brown bottle, like an eyedropper bottle, sat between the bowl of biscuits and a platter of fried potatoes.
Hazel was on the other side of the tent, fussing over her husband as he took his plate. Lorena snatched the bottle. She tucked it in the pocket of her jeans and walked back to her chair.
The boys got into a game of tackle football, Ray DJ’ed country tunes on his laptop, and a fire was built. They’d be partying long into the night.
After the sun set, Deacon sought her out, his shirt off and burly chest heaving, smeared with dirt and glistening with sweat. She admired the view as he bent down to kiss her forehead.
“You seem to be having fun.” She smiled up at him. “That’s the roughhousing Lycan I know and love.”
He tweaked her nipple and her cheeks flashed hot. She slapped his hand away. “There’s kids.”
He grinned and took a swig from her bottle of beer. “They gotta learn someday.”
Suddenly, all the dogs started barking and Lorena flinched. They’d let them out a while ago and they’d been sprawled around the fire. They leapt up and darted toward the bottom of the yard, except Clem. He stood next to Lorena’s chair and whined.
“What the hell?” Deacon mopped his face with his hand and looked after them.
Lorena stood up.
“What’s going on?” Zeke hollered. “There a fox down there or something?”
“Probably.” Deacon sighed. “Or a coyote. Damn fools.”
Lorena squinted toward the trees. The barking abruptly changed. A high, pained yelp followed, then fearful yowling. Lorena stiffened.
“Shit.” Deacon dropped the beer. “Daddy, get your shotgun!”
Stacy hurried over to the fire. “Kids, get in the house!”
Deacon took off toward the driveway. Lorena followed him. They ran to their truck and opened both doors. Lorena reached under the seat and pulled out her Browning. Deacon grabbed his shotgun off the rack in the back window.
When they returned to the yard, Ray and Zeke met them with their shotguns. Two of the dogs raced back, tails tucked, yipping. They sped past them and dove under the deck.
