by Lisa Ladew
At the word ‘wolves’, her body had jerked forward. She lowered her face close to his, speaking softly, not wanting to startle him or wake him or lose the moment. “Werewolves?”
He rubbed a gnarled hand over his face, his eyelids fluttering. “They are not werewolves. The moon does not control their shift into wolf or human form.”
Rogue’s entire body had jerked again at the admission, like she was the one convulsing. Wolves. Wolves who could look like men. Or be men. The idea filled her with an emotion she couldn’t identify, and, as a response, her mind clamped down on it, controlling it, denying it admission. Forcing it into a small box she always kept the lid on. Emotions were dangerous. Anything that dimmed your thinking mind and your ability to make decisions was not to be trusted. Especially anything as strong as that feeling was.
Her werewolf problem had started before Boe came into her life, but once he’d said those words? It had become a werewolf obsession. She should have considered him crazy. A real piece of work. But somehow she knew he wasn’t.
He wouldn’t say anymore that evening, pulling into a ball and refusing to speak at all, and when she’d approached the subject the next day, he’d looked positively stricken that he’d said anything. She’d had to go to Chicago that afternoon for a job, and had stayed away for almost a month, leaving him at her house alone, not for the first time, but it was the first time she’d been gone for so long.
She trusted him, though. He was close-mouthed about his life, but she learned that he’d once had a wife and kids but had outlived all of them. The way he talked about them made it seem as if he’d had to make some sort of a choice a long time ago, a choice that left them safe, but had changed his life forever. If she tried to question him about other aspects of life, like his past jobs, or where he used to live, he became distressed to the point of getting sick and trying to leave her home. So she never pushed him. He loved to read and to listen to the radio. He preferred classical music, couldn’t stand hip hop or rap, was indifferent about most of the rest of it. He still read for hours every day (sometimes reading cookbooks like they were fiction, from page one to the end, all in one sitting), he cleaned her house from top to bottom weekly, and had even begun to cook food for her. He didn’t drive or leave, ever, but she had groceries delivered and was amazed at some of the dishes he was creating. In short, she liked having him around, the whole weird, part-of-the-mystery thing notwithstanding.
When she’d returned from the job in Chicago after his first nightmare, she’d done a bit of pushing here and there, until she’d finally triggered something in him so scary that she’d never tried again.
Rogue stood and carried her dinner dishes to the sink. She hadn’t eaten a meal like that in… ever. Boe had barely eaten any of his, instead preferring to watch her eat, and smile at every noise of pleasure she’d made. At the sink, her back to Boe, she’d decided it was time and said, almost casually, “Tell me about the foxen. Tell me about that mark on your chest that you take great pains to hide from me.”
She could feel Boe stiffen behind her as the atmosphere in the room chilled to freezing. He normally washed the dishes, but she picked up the sponge and ran it over her plate in a distracted manner, waiting for him to say anything, hoping not looking at him would make it easier for him to talk, like it did her. When he didn’t, she tried again. “Or The Father. You could tell me about The Father. I know you need to talk about it. Your dreams of him are killing you.”
When he still didn’t speak, she tried one more time, being sure not to look at him, not to see his distress, because it would make her stop. “Or the wolves, Boe. You could tell me about the wolves. I hear you moan about them at night sometimes. You say things like, ‘the wolves will know who I am, and they will make me stand trial for my sins of multitude.’”
A scritch-scratch sound made her turn around. Boe had gone stiff in his chair, his eyes glazed and staring at nothing, his fingers scrabbling on the table like a giant spider. And then he’d spoken, a mish-mash of words that came out of his mouth so quickly she couldn’t pick out a one. The color drained from his face, leaving him looking pinched and drawn, and even older. A man in his seventies, now, even though he was warm and well-fed.
He heaved a great breath and another glut of words began to flow, like one great big word. Rogue scrambled for her phone and began to take video, even though the tone of the message made her skin crawl.
“TheselandswillbeourstoreignoveraslordsandourfemaleswillberestoredtousourprogenywillfloodthesoilIamthevanquisherof…”
“Stop!” she cried, because her stomach was turning, a queasiness making her mouth water. She didn’t want to hear anymore. “Tell me about the wolves. I only want to know about the werewolves.”
Boe looked at her, but still his eyes were dead. “There are no werewolves.”
Rogue swallowed hard, fighting her nausea with her every breath. “That’s not what you said before.”
“Werewolves are made up. Make believe. What we are facing is much more dangerous than a werewolf.” His voice lowered, as if he were telling a great secret. “The wolves that live in Serenity, indeed, in the entire world, are not tied to the moon in the manner of story. They run by it, mate by it, but they do not worship it or change only when it is fat.”
Rogue held her breath, her nausea easing somewhat. This was what she wanted to hear. “Go on.”
Boe’s head turned an inch and looked at the wall behind her again. “Ohhearmethycunningandcrimson─”
“No!”
Rogue’s mouth flooded with saliva just at the memory. Seeing Boe in that trance had made her a bit scared of him for the first time, and she normally wasn’t scared of anything, not even death. She was on earth, alive, and she was doing her best at it, but when it was time for her to go, she might just be happy about that.
She’d stopped the video and apologized, still having to shake Boe by the shoulder for a few minutes until he’d come back to himself.
And she’d never asked him about foxen, or The Father, or the wolves again. Never heard the words again until earlier that day.
Rogue drove out of the parking garage, again checking her senses. No one was watching her.
Ah, that was the fourth part of the puzzle, if she really wanted to be honest with herself. She was different, wasn’t she?
So she had one-the movies in her mind that were getting worse and worse, sometimes making her black out, making her obsess over wolves and cops, cops and wolves. Two-her absolute belief that werewolves, men who could shift into wolves and back, existed. Three-the seeming coincidence that Boe had been dropped into her lap. Four-the fact that she was different, always had been. Other people weren’t able to tell when someone was watching them. Other people couldn’t pinpoint a hidden person’s location by the feeling of their eyes on them.
Oh, and let’s not forget that now she had a five! Five, she’d just spent a day of freaky strangeness, somehow popping locks with her touch… or her mind, and then been coerced into an underground tunnel by a disembodied voice that seemed to come from a necklace.
Shit. Suddenly she fiercely wanted those pendants with her, if only to prove that she wasn’t the crazy one.
Rogue turned on the farm road, frowning slightly, rubbing a hand to her temple, fearing she was in fact crazy, and having the pendants in her hand would prove absolutely nothing.
Chapter 16
Checking again to be sure no one’s attention was on her, Rogue turned down the farm road that lead to The Honey Depot as a large black truck took the corner too fast and sped past her going the other way. She had to swerve onto the shoulder to avoid them. She flipped the truck the bird and eased back into her lane, finding the restaurant easily. For a split second, she felt like someone was watching her, but the feeling eased quickly.
She parked, then pulled a guy’s picture out of her bag, memorizing his features. Denton Smith was his name. He was hiding out in Serenity, and the only intel on him was that he liked this
restaurant, eating here a few times a week. So if she was lucky enough to catch him here, she’d follow him home. Otherwise, she’d ask a few questions, see if anyone knew anything about him.
She strode up the steps, watching through the windows before she even got inside. It looked busy, but no, so far she didn’t see him. She pulled open the door and—
What was that smell? Something harsh in all the right ways greeted her, making her falter just inside the door. Some part of her mind registered the Please Seat Yourself sign and she headed for a table in the corner where she could check out the entire place, then changed her mind on impulse, hitting the bar instead. It struck her that she was following the scent. It wasn’t food, although she smelled plenty of that, too. No, it was strong and deep, like a man’s cologne, but it was like no cologne she’d ever smelled. It was more like… an aura, or an attitude. Strong masculine attitude and roughened denim, and it wasn’t diminishing. She drifted to the second chair in from the retaining wall and more fell into it than sat in it, taking a deep breath, all thoughts of why she was supposed to be there falling right out of her head as she breathed through her nose and-
“Miss, miss! Are you ok?”
Rogue jerked as her conscious mind slammed back into her head. What had she been-?”
“Great,” the waitress next to her mumbled. “I’m gonna get Willow. I don’t get paid enough to do this shit.”
Rogue raised her hand. “No, I’m fine. Sorry. Don’t get… Willow.” Whoever Willow was. “Sorry about that. I’ve-ah, I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
The waitress put on an mm-hmm face and held up her pad and pen. “You ready to order?”
Rogue had no idea what they were serving but she didn’t want to make any more of a spectacle of herself. “Yeah, bring me a water and whatever the special is.”
The waitress, whose nametag read ‘Pam’, scribbled down the order and left. Rogue took a deep breath and gave herself a few moments to regain her composure.
When she had, she realized the smell she’d been so captivated by had dissipated quite a bit. She frowned, really hating what was happening to her. Maybe she should see a doctor? Wouldn’t it be a kick in the head if her werewolf problem was nothing more than a tumor pressing on her brain stem. Maybe Boe was nothing more than a figment of her imagination. The pendants, too.
Shit. Too depressing to contemplate. She didn’t want to leave this world tied to a hospital bed. She wouldn’t, either. If that’s what it came down to, she’d find something high to jump off of—
Crap! She was spacing again, sure as if she’d thought of the cop. That smell had done something to her brain, scrambled her circuits, reminded her of that time in Yosemite—
No. Not doing this again. She rallied her brain, brass-knuckled it into behaving, and turned slightly on the barstool so she could survey the other patrons. Smith wasn’t among them. No problem, she’d ask Pam about him when she got a chance. Linger over dessert if she had to. Come back tonight or tomorrow. Never were jobs that easy anyway.
She sat forward in her seat, letting the conversations in the restaurant wash over her, turning slightly every time she heard the bell over the door jingle, accepting her Rueben sandwich with honey for dipping with a confused smile, then trying it. It was good. Strange, but good.
From her vantage point at the bar, she could also hear all the conversations in the kitchen. A back door slammed. “Willow!” someone called, and a few more hellos were murmured. A soft female voice, so darn soft and sweet that it set Rogue’s teeth on edge spoke. “Hello, Bart. Hi, Mom, Pam, I’m so glad to see you today.”
Rogue raised her eyes to look through the long and narrow window into the kitchen, wanting to see the owner of that voice. It sounded too sweet and nice to be real. But when she saw the person who had been speaking, she figured it probably wasn’t an act. Some people were really that sweet, she knew, and this woman looked to be one of them.
Her hair was long and a honey-colored brown that shone in the overhead lights. Her skin was flawless and her eyes big enough and kind enough to belong to a Disney princess from the early years, back before they were badasses. Her cheeks were colored with a blush that looked to be permanent, from healthy eating and perpetual excitement, probably. Shit. Rogue knew that kind of girl. Everyone’s friend, always the person you went to when you were feeling down or sad, she would talk to anyone, lend out her last dollar, until some nutjob stalked her into hiding. Rogue didn’t like many women, but she found herself drawn to this one. She looked too sweet to dislike.
As if she felt someone looking at her, Willow turned and made eye contact with Rogue through the window. Rogue lifted her eyebrows and her chin. Hi. Then looked back down at her food.
But the door to the kitchen opened and Rogue looked up again. Willow was there, her pink cheeks and open stare pointed right at Rogue. She stood right in front of Rogue on the other side of the bar. “Do I know you?”
Rogue shook her head.
Willow came around the bar toward her. “I’m Willow.”
Rogue wiped her hands on her napkin, but before she could stick one out, Willow was putting her arms around her. Rogue turned her wrists inward to be sure Willow didn’t inadvertently feel the knives strapped to the inside of her arms. She chewed quietly and waited for the hug to be over. Anyone else would have gotten a push to the chest or maybe a backhand to the face, but not this woman. That would have been like kicking a puppy who licked your boot. Rogue could feel Willow’s gentleness seeping out.
Willow backed up and looked down. “Sorry, ah, I’m a hugger.” She blushed, her cheeks pinking up prettily. “I usually have more manners, I apologize.”
Rogue waved a hand. Whatever. Chew. Chew. Swallow.
Willow sat down next to her and stared hard at her. “It’s just that… well, I feel like I know you. Or like I want to know you.”
Rogue looked Willow up and down, her mind quiet. She didn’t mind being rude when someone got up in her grill, but she wouldn’t be with Willow. She understood exactly what Willow meant, was feeling a bit of it herself. “I’m Rogue.” Fuck, shouldn’t have given the real name. She was slipping.
“Rogue. Lovely. What a wonderful name, although it doesn’t describe you in the slightest. You’re gorgeous. You should be named fancy and beautiful, like Elizabeth, or Bronwyn or… or…” Willow snapped her fingers and pointed at Rogue. “Seraphina!”
Rogue laughed, surprised into it, then surprised that she’d done it. There wasn’t a lot of levity in her life and suddenly she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. She shook her head. “Sometimes it’s better not to stand out.”
Willow nodded like she knew the truth in that statement, then twisted her body on the bar stool like a small girl who’d been forced to sit still for too long. “How’s your sandwich?”
Rogue held up the half in her hand. “Surprisingly good. I wouldn’t have thought honey would go with a Rueben, but I like it.”
Willow clapped her hands together and something in the mannerism made Rogue think of her sister as a young girl. Although Amaranth had been more like Rogue, hard, suspicious, grown up way too young. So why would Rogue think of her now?
Willow smiled. “Oh yay! I’m so glad you like it. You absolutely have to try my skillet cookie. I make it with coconut flour, cricket flour, and yacon syrup, so, not only is it tasty, it’s super good for you, too. Full of protein.”
Rogue had been about to say yes until she’d heard cricket flour. Absolutely not. And yacon syrup? Wasn’t that an ingredient in dog food? She put her sandwich down and stared at it. “There’s no cricket flour in that, is there?”
“No, no, just my cookies. The farmers love them.”
Rogue shook her head. “Good thing you tell people first. Mess around and feed people crickets without their knowing and someone might get upset.”
Willow laughed, a tinkling, melodic sound, that soothed Rogue, almost made her feel better about the bug cookies. She stood up, then
touched Rogue on the shoulder. “Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to say hi.”
Rogue didn’t want her to go. She shelved the thought, pushing aside the emotion in her expert manner. She had a purpose here, one that did not include making a new friend. Willow waved one last time and disappeared.
Rogue finished her sandwich. Dessert? Only if there was something bug-free. She waved down Pam, but instead of ordering anything else, she spoke the words that popped into her head. “Hey, you ever seen a guy named Denton Smith here?”
Pam’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah.”
Rogue launched into her lie smoothly, without premeditation. “We ah, we kind of had a thing last summer and I was hoping to get back together with him, at least see what he was up to.”
She left it there, pasting an innocent, hopeful expression on her face, thinking Pam would tell her when the guy was most likely to be there. But instead, she hit pay dirt.
Pam’s face smoothed out and she looked Rogue up and down. “Oh. Yeah, well, I heard he’s caretaking the Watson building. Moved in upstairs of the warehouse. You know, free place to live and all that.”
Rogue nodded and smiled, a big fake one. “Totally, that sounds just like him.” She knew exactly where the Watson warehouse was. Historic building, sometimes used for weddings or graduations or reunions, but almost always empty until late spring. She could check it out that evening. If it was empty, she’d be in and out in no time at all. If the job really was going to be that easy, she almost would feel bad taking Rex’s money. Almost.
She paid, and headed out the door, faltering for just a moment when she felt eyes hard on her. A quick scan of the parking lot told her it was no one there. She knew it wasn’t coming from behind her. She strode forward, blinking against the setting sun, walking directly for whoever was watching her. If they had a weapon trained on her, her senses would tell her that, but they didn’t. She held up a hand to block the glare, and tried to see past the rays so strong they were like a physical thing, but the feeling was already gone. No one was watching her anymore.
