“Tell him,” she prompted in a small whisper. She was always reticent and mouse-like around her uncle.
“We planned to go on a picnic in the orchard for lunch today,” I explained.
“I…I can’t,” he looked years older than he actually was (According to Forbes, he was thirty). He looked exhausted, and even maybe a little ill. “There was…” he began, then paused for a moment.
“There was another attack on livestock last night,” he said, his voice soft. “You shouldn’t wander.” I felt Mary stiffen beside me.
“Surely we would be safe during the day…”
“More than likely…but just in case.”
“Why don’t you come with us?”
“I’m just…I’m not…” he sighed, and walked out of the kitchen. I was confused. Was he sick? If he was, why didn’t he say so? I looked down at Mary, beside me. She was near tears.
“I knew the monster was nearby. It comes here.” She said.
“No, baby. The monster isn’t here. It just goes after livestock.” I picked her small body up in my arms. “How about we have our picnic on the front lawn? It’s a beautiful, sunny day outside.” She nodded, but her face was solemn.
Chapter Four
I was in my office down on the first floor. Soraya had just left, on her way back to the guest house to work in her own office. The door opened, a light knocking, assuming that it was Soraya, I didn’t look up.
“Yes?”
“Um, I was wondering if I might speak with you.” I looked up to see Jennifer standing hesitantly at the door to my office.
“Certainly. Um. Is Mary alone?”
“She’s napping. She’s having a hard day.” My heart sunk. I was exhausted, having been up the entire night before, creating the havoc that had obviously terrified my niece in addition to the local community. My self-hatred reared its ugly head.
“Come in,” I said, gesturing toward the chair across from my desk. This was the office where I received visitors. My real office, covered in files and research on werewolves and other paranormal records and sightings, was tucked away behind high-tech locked doors. I looked at Jennifer, her brow furrowed in a way that made her look unbearably attractive. “How have your first few days been here?”
“It’s a wonderful place. And Mary is an extremely bright and kind young girl.” I could hear the “but” coming.
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s grieving. And she’s so isolated here. I even feel isolated, and I’ve only been here for a couple of days.” She had a point, and I nodded my agreement.
“What are you asking?”
“Could I just take her into town every couple of days or so? She would benefit from being with other children her age…it would help her to heal.”
“What activities were you thinking of?”
“Well, I did some research, and while Ashford’s website is a bit sparse, I found a playground and a church on Google Maps…”
“Mary’s parents were active in their church,” I admitted. “I’m not. But maybe that would be good for her…grounding, familiar.”
“That’s what I thought.” Jennifer was smiling, although her eyes looked sad and concerned. “Is there any way that I could use the town car?”
“Would you prefer to drive yourself so that you wouldn’t have to call the service?”
“That would be wonderful,” she replied gratefully. I stood up, smoothing my oxford shirt.
“Come with me,” I said, leading the way to the garage, which was out in the back of the house, behind my office. “I should have shown this to you before. It just didn’t occur to me that you would need anything.” I opened the door, turning on the fluorescent overhead lights to reveal my prized collection of luxury vehicles.
“Impressive,” she said, her eyebrows raised.
“You can take any one you like,” I said.
“I don’t think that I have the balls to drive a Porsche into town,” she said. I laughed, and she looked at me, surprised.
“At least sit in it,” I said. “It’s quite comfortable.”
“Very well,” she said, opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. The top on the cherry red convertible was down. I leaned on the passenger’s side door.
“Now, imagine speeding over the country roads, the top down, the wind in your hair, the sun on your skin—”
“You make it sound poetic,” she said.
“The right car is pure poetry,” I replied. I gestured toward my Chevrolet Corvette. “See that one?”
“Yes. The Corvette,” she said. “Pretty standard luxury car, don’t you think?”
“But the power of it…the classic American manufacturing…it’s everything.” I stood beside it, and she followed me over, shutting the door to the Porsche with a slam.
“You talk like my uncle. He’s a mechanic.”
“What are you doing with the Firebird?” she asked me, motioning to the body of the ’67 Pontiac Firebird that I was restoring in my spare time. I was impressed that she knew her cars.
“It’s an original ’67 Firebird,” I said. “My dad had one when he was a kid, and he spent my entire childhood raving about it.”
“So you got rich and bought him one?”
“Well, he died of cancer when I was fifteen, so it’s more like I feel close to him when I work on it.”
“You’re doing the work yourself?”
“Yeah. You seem surprised.”
“Don’t rich people hire other people to do things for them?”
“I’m self-made. All I do is work.”
“I see.” She ran a finger over the car. I imagined driving the Firebird through the Nevada desert, Jennifer sitting beside me, laughing with the wind and the sun in her face. She looked over at me, her face unguarded for a second. I found myself placing a hand on her face, and then, kissing her. She was kissing me back. I ran my hands over her curvy hips, and along her spine. She began to pant lightly in response, grabbing at the collar of my shirt.
This was wrong. I was a monster. I pulled away suddenly, and Jennifer looked at me strangely, as though I’d slapped her.
“Take any car that you want. The keys are hanging on the back wall.” I began to back away, heading toward the door, and gesturing. “Over there. There are emergency company credit cards in the kitchen.”
As I walked into the house, I could feel it—the sun was sinking lower in the sky. It was late afternoon, the time when I usually locked myself into my suite. I walked quickly up the stairs, heading straight for my chambers. I locked the large, mahogany double-doors behind me. I then walked across the room, with its large, four poster bed with its messy tangle of sheets and comforter. I cleaned this room myself, never letting anyone enter it.
I opened the massive walk-in closet that contained the large, rebar cage. The door occasionally broke, as I had constructed it myself. I had no one that I could bring in to do it for me—no one that I trusted. The night before, it had broken and I had gotten out, feasting on a herd of cattle at a nearby farm, the carnage both delicious and horrifying at the same time. Feeling a sense of dep exhaustion, I stepped inside of the cage, activating the lock and sitting down. I sat, thinking of Jennifer, and the smell of her hair for hours as the sun sank beneath the horizon and I shifted into a large, black-furred beast that was equal parts man and wolf.
Chapter Five
I was unbalanced after what had happened with Michael. I had never done anything like that with an employer. Not once. It felt exhilarating, until he backed away from me as though I were dangerous. The fact that he fled from the situation in fear made me confused—it was as though he were afraid of his attraction to me. I walked back into the house to go and check on Mary.
When I entered her room, she was awake and playing in the corner with her Barbie dolls. She looked up at me expectantly, any trace of sadness erased by sleep. I smiled at her.
“How about we take a quick jaunt into town?” I asked her.
“Has your uncle ever told you where he leaves the emergency credit cards?” I asked her. She nodded, opening one of the drawers. There were several cards inside. I chose a Mastercard, and slid it into my wallet. We headed out to the garage, and were on our way, cruising over the isolated roads through the woods in a red Mercedes that Mary liked, the top down, and the wind running its fingers through our hair.
Ashford was a quiet, sleepy town with lovely architecture. We passed a church, a school, and various mom and pop stores. I kind of ached for a 7-11, with its cherry-flavored Slurpees. I pulled up in front of the general store.
“How about we get some fun things for a movie night?” I suggested.
“Like popcorn?”
“Sure.” We got out of the car and headed in to the store, blinking in the fluorescent lighting. It smelled sweet—like fresh, ripened fruit and spices. Mary gripped my hand tightly, dragging me over toward the snack foods.
“I like kettle corn the best,” she said.
“Okay,” I replied. “Do you want some type of candy to go with that?”
“I can have candy, too?”
“Only one. I don’t want your uncle to think I’m spoiling you.” She let go of my hand, and began debating whether she wanted gummies or Snow Caps.
“Can I help you with anything?” I turned to find myself face-to-face with a good-looking man. He wore a stylishly worn black t-shirt and jeans. He had a nice build—he definitely worked out. His face was equally as swoon-worthy as his abs; his eyes were a warm brown color, and he had straight, white teeth. He was holding a clip board, and he had a name tag pinned to his chest, bearing the title of General Manager.
“We’re just picking up snacks for a movie night,” I replied.
“Ah,” he said, and then directed his next comment to Mary, who had sidled up beside me, and was holding my hand in a death-grip. “What movie will you ladies be watching this evening?” I looked down at Mary, and she shrugged. Her eyes were wide, and she said nothing.
“She’s shy,” I explained. “We haven’t decided yet.”
“We have a good selection of DVDs if you want to check them out,” he offered.
“Sure,” I said.
“Follow me,” he led the way to a few racks of DVDs. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new in town?”
“I am,” I replied. “Mary has been here for a little longer, but we are basically new to the area.”
“Ah. I see,” he raised his eyebrows. “Well, it’s nice to make your acquaintance. My name is Damien. Damien Price.” He held out a hand.
“Jennifer Hart,” I replied, shaking his hand. “And this is Mary.”
“Lovely to meet you, Mary,” Damien smiled. Mary said nothing. At that moment, the back door of the store opened. An elderly woman exited, and she waved to Damien.
“Damien,” she said.
“Hello, mother,” he replied. “We have some new people in town.”
“Ah lovely, lovely,” she said.
“This is Jennifer and Mary,” he said.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. The woman came over, and placed her hands on her hips. She was wearing a floral muumuu and hot pink crocs.
“You must be Mary,” she said to my charge. Mary nodded. “Is this your mother?”
“Oh, no. I’m her live-in nanny,” I explained. “She’s the niece of Michael Thompson.”
“Oh, the billionaire,” Mrs. Price said. “We rarely see anyone from Chatsworth House in Ashford anymore.”
“There’s not many people living in Chatsworth, to be honest.” I looked down at Mary. “We tend to rattle around a bit, don’t we?” Mary’s eyes were on the floor.
“I bet it’s lovely living there,” Mrs. Price said.
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Almost like a fairytale.”
“I can only imagine.” She said. “What is he like?”
“Who?”
“The billionaire, of course,” she replied.
“He’s quite nice,” I said, feeling myself flush a little at the memory of my most recent encounter with my employer.
“Are you… romantic?”
“Oh, no. He’s my employer.” She looked relieved when I said this.
“Well, it’s lovely to have a beautiful young woman in town,” Mrs. Price said.
“Oh,” I said, blushing as the older woman shot an obvious and pointed look at her son.
“You two should join us at church on Sunday.” Damien said, trying to deviate the flow of conversation. “We’re having a church picnic.”
“Mary loves picnics,” I said, looking down at the little girl, who was wrapped around my leg.
“There’s also a Sunday school class. My grandson is in it—he’s staying with me for the summer,” Mrs. Price said. “Mary can meet some kids her age.”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” I replied.
“So we’ll see you two there?” She beamed.
“Absolutely,” I replied. “What else goes on around here?”
“Oh, well, there’s the community pool. And the book club. That might be good for you—if you’re in to that sort of thing.”
“I do like to read.”
“Oh, excellent. Did Damien tell you that he’s a writer?”
“Mother—” Damien began.
“He is.” His mother said. “He’s one of those travel blog journalists. My son certainly gets around.”
“Mother!”
“Not that way, son.”
“I’m in the middle of trips,” Damien explained to me.
“Oh.” I replied. “Where are you going next?”
“No idea yet. I only just recently returned from Iceland.”
“Iceland sounds fascinating.”
“Cold, more like,” his mother interjected. “You two should join us for dinner sometime, dear.”
“We would love to.”
“Yes. Mary and my grandson would get along famously.” She inhaled, satisfied. “Well, I’ve got to toodle. It was wonderful to make your acquaintance.”
“I look forward to seeing you on Sunday,” I said.
“And you as well, dear.” She waggled her fingers as she walked toward the front entrance.
Chapter Six
Mary and I explored the entire town of Ashford on foot. It didn’t take us long; Ashford was a small town. It was getting late in the afternoon when we found the park. It was full of kids, blowing off steam after school. Mary tugged on my arm.
“Can I go on the jungle gym?”
“Of course,” I said, heartened that she wanted to engage in a social activity. She insisted that I hold her hand until we were standing right in front of the green-painted metal structure. A small girl in a hot-pink tutu was hanging on the bars.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” Mary replied in a whisper.
“I’m Jackie,” the girl said. “What’s your name?” Mary looked down at her feet.
“Hi Jackie,” I said. “This is Mary.”
“Are you shy?” Jackie asked Mary, who nodded. “That’s okay. My brother is shy, too.” Jackie swung a little on the bars that she was hanging from.
“Do you want to swing with me?” Jackie asked Mary. Mary nodded, and Jackie let go of the bars, landing neatly on her feet. She held out a hand to Mary. “Come on.” Mary took her hand, and they ran off toward the swing set. I sighed, watching.
“Hey!” I turned to find a group of mothers watching me. A blonde woman who looked like a larger version of Jackie was waving me over. I walked over to them.
“Hi,” I said.
“New in town?” Jackie’s mom asked me.
“Yep,” I replied. “I’m Jennifer Hart.” The women introduced themselves. Jackie’s mom, Holly, nodded toward the girls.
“Is that your daughter?”
“No. I’m her nanny. Her uncle is Michael Thompson.”
“The billionaire,” Holly
’s eyebrows were raised. She looked impressed. “Whenever he is sighted, the view is fantastic.”
“What’s he like?” another mom, Kaley asked.
“He’s nice. A little distant, to be honest, but I am only his employee,” I said.
“Just as we suspected,” Holly replied. “Is he single?”
“Yes,” I replied, feeling strangely cagey.
“Is it true that he’s a billionaire? We heard that he may have lost all of his money, and that’s why he’s in hiding.”
“Well, I haven’t seen anything to suggest that.”
“Chatsworth isn’t falling apart at all?”
“No, not at all,” I said. “A cleaning service comes in once a week, a gardener drops by every few days, and a handyman covers anything that needs repairs, so Chatsworth is in pretty mint condition.” They all nodded, wrapt. “Mary and I just met the Prices.”
“Ah, the handsome blogger and his mother,” Holly said. “Charming people.”
“I quite agree.”
“He is delicious,” one of the mothers said.
“Swoon-inducing,” another proclaimed. They all tittered.
“So do you all come here every day?” I asked them. I could see Mary in the distance, talking animatedly with Jackie and two other girls.
“Oh, yes,” Holly said. “You and Mary are always welcome to join us.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“There is a swimming class that the kids love—the lifeguard who teaches it is a dream with kids,” Holly said. “You should bring Mary sometime.”
“I’m sure she’d love it,” I said.
“Has anyone seen Martha?” Kaley asked. There was a chorus of no’s. “Usually she and Ben are here without fail.” Kaley pulled out her cell phone. She gasped as she read a text message.
“Oh. Oh my god,” she said, holding a hand to her mouth in shock.
“What happened?” Holly asked, putting her hand on Kaley’s shoulder.
“It’s Samantha—Martha’s sixteen year-old. Martha found her in the garage this morning. She was mauled by some animal.” There was a chorus of upset.
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