Wolves of Wisteria

by Angela Pepper

  Carrot looked up and around, caught Zinnia's eye, and guiltily looked back at her screen again. Gavin and Dawna were both focused on their screens, hands on their laps. Margaret was in the same pose.

  Carrot suddenly burst out, “Is this Tracy person supposed to be me? Seriously?”

  Nobody said anything.

  Carrot repeated her question. “Seriously? Is Tracy me? She's got my hair and tattoos.”

  Zinnia asked her, “What are you talking about?”

  “The book,” Carrot said, gesturing to her computer screen. “Annette's manuscript. I'm reading it on my computer. That's pretty much all I've been doing since lunch time.”

  “Same here,” said Gavin.

  “Me, too,” said Margaret.

  “Good,” said Dawna. “It's about time everybody caught up.” She cupped her hand around her mouth and called out, “Jesse?”

  Jesse's voice came from his office. “You guessed it, Dawna. I'm on chapter five.”

  Carrot yelled to Jesse, “Do you think this Tracy character is anything like me? I know she has orange hair, but she's so annoying. Tracy always makes a point of being different from everyone else, like she's a special snowflake.”

  Nobody said anything.

  Carrot said, “I guess she's okay. Tracy has some good qualities. But why is her name Tracy?”

  “There's a code,” Dawna said with an air of authority. “I already figured out the code the first time I read it, last night. Annette warned me she was going to use all of us as people in her book, and did she ever! She used lots of our personal details, but she moved the letters of everyone's names around. That's why Carrot is Tracy. Same letters.”

  Gavin cleared his throat. “Tracy is a palindrome for Carrot.”

  Margaret cleared her throat. “I believe the word you're looking for is anagram, Gavin. A palindrome is a word or phrase that reads the same backward and forward, like Emily's sassy lime.”

  Gavin stuck his nose in the air. “Sorry I'm not as literary as you, Margaret. Some of us were having fun in our twenties.”

  “I had fun in college,” Margaret said indignantly. “I was in an improv troupe. The MacGuffins.”

  Carrot said, “Tracy is not really an anagram, either, because she added the letter Y and left out a few other letters.”

  Gavin stuck his tongue out at Margaret. “See? You're wrong, too.”

  Margaret rolled her eyes.

  Carrot leaned forward and studied her screen. Shaking her head, she said, “But Tracy is a high school student. Maybe she's not supposed to be me after all. These high school kids can't be us.”

  Dawna said, “Think about it, Carrot. Don't you think there are a lot of similarities between what happens around here and what it's like in high school?” She laughed. “Just look around you. We've got all the high school clichés. Gavin and Margaret are always competing to be Teacher's Pet. Jesse is obviously the Class Clown. Karl is the quiet, weird kid who snaps one day and blows up the chemistry lab. And then Zinnia, well, she's the classic wallflower.”

  Zinnia felt the sting of Dawna's joking insult. Classic wallflower? Was that how the others saw her? Surely there were better high school clichés to describe her, such as whatever you called a conservative, sensible person who actually did her job. Maybe a nerd? Or, better, yet, the smart girl who accidentally gets stuck in the popular clique?

  The others were chuckling over Dawna's labels. The only two not laughing were Zinnia and Carrot.

  “I never went to high school,” Carrot said. “I was homeschooled.”

  This new tidbit about Carrot's upbringing came as no surprise to anyone.

  Gavin snickered. “That explains a lot.”

  Dawna waved a hand at Gavin and turned to Carrot. “Girl, you didn't miss out on anything. High school was the worst. I was best friends with this girl who was always breaking up with her boyfriend.” She rolled her eyes. “The drama! They'd be fighting one minute and making out by the lockers by the next class.”

  Margaret and Zinnia exchanged a knowing look.

  Jesse came out of his office to join the conversation. He eyed Zinnia's desk but didn't come over. He leaned up against his doorway, standing behind Gavin.

  “Looks like you're right about where I'm at,” Jesse said to Gavin, looking at his screen.

  Dawna asked Jesse, “Did you two get to the part where all the kids find out their magic powers?”

  Carrot covered her ears with both hands and squealed, “Spoilers!”

  Dawna said, “Carrot, keep your ears covered and don't listen for a minute.”

  Carrot kept her hands over her ears and started humming.

  Dawna got to her feet and waved her hands as though beginning a prepared announcement. “Get this, everyone. So, Dawna—I mean Wanda—is a pretty amazing person in the book. She does this thing where she reads Tarot cards and predicts the future. She also does this other cool thing where she picks out winning scratch-off tickets.”

  Gavin wrinkled his nose and asked, “What are scratch-off tickets?”

  Dawna sighed. “You know. Like the ones I buy at the gas station.”

  “You mean the instant win tickets you always win money on?”

  Everyone went quiet and stared at Dawna. She did talk about scratch-off tickets a lot.

  Dawna pulled at her collar. She suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Zinnia wondered, was that how Dawna could afford all her designer purses? Did the real-life Dawna share her character's magic ability with scratch-n-win lottery tickets?

  “I'm just lucky,” Dawna said, her voice high and squeaky. “If you buy enough of those things, you're bound to get lucky sooner or later.”

  Gavin's eyes narrowed. One at a time, he picked up the personal items on Dawna's desk and named them. “Jade plant. Four-leaf clover. White elephant.” He stared up at her as though seeing his on-again-off-again girlfriend in a new light. “These are all symbols of good luck.”

  Dawna, still standing, put her hands on her hips. “So? Who doesn't like being lucky?”

  Gavin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I'm starting to wonder if Annette was onto something. Maybe you do have some sort of magical ability when it comes to picking winners.”

  Dawna's eyes widened and she bobbed her head from side to side. “Oh, yeah? If I'm so good at picking winners, then why'd I pick you? Hmm?”

  Everyone laughed.

  When the frivolity died down, Carrot spoke up. “The magic powers are pretty funny.” She dropped her hands away from her ears. “I could still hear you through my hands, but that's okay. I skipped ahead a bit, so I already know about Tracy being a rune mage. That Annette sure had a wild imagination. Tracy works her magic mainly by putting tattoos on people.” Carrot put her elbows on her desk and rested her chin on her hands. Her expression was dreamy. “Maybe one day when I finally open a tattoo parlor, I'll tell people I give magical rune tattoos.”

  “I'd pay for that,” Jesse said. “You can give me one of your magical rune tattoos around my bicep.”

  “Me, too,” Gavin said. “Carrot, I want magical rune tattoos on both biceps.”

  “Silly Gavin,” Dawna interrupted in a singsong voice. “You're a gnome, and gnomes don't get tattoos, because it affects their ability to teleport.”

  Gavin choked on the water he'd been drinking.

  While he coughed, Dawna explained, “Y'all aren't there yet in the book, but—spoiler alert—Gavin's character is a gnome.”

  “I am not,” Gavin said indignantly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I'm six foot two. I'm not a gnome. Who ever heard of a six-foot gnome?”

  “Don't shoot the messenger,” Dawna said. “You can blame Annette and her wild imagination. You do know your character is Nivag, right?

  “No kidding,” Gavin said flatly. “Nivag is Gavin backwards. I figured that out instantly.”

  Dawna asked, “Did you get to the part where everyone finds out Nivag is a gnome?”

  Gavin frowned. “Obviously not.” H
e looked directly at Zinnia, locking eyes with her and glowering.

  Zinnia averted her gaze and pretended to be concerned with some loose stationery on her desk.

  Jesse said, “Nivag the gnome. I like it.” He patted Gavin on the shoulder. “New nickname for you, Gavin?”

  Gavin pulled away from Jesse's hand and got to his feet. He pointed at Zinnia and Margaret's shared work space. “Oh, yeah? If I'm a gnome, then what are they? What are Margaret and Zinnia?”

  Zinnia tensed, expecting the worst. If Annette had pegged Gavin as a gnome, Carrot as a rune mage, and Dawna as a cartomancer, what were the odds she had guessed—or known—the powers of the two office witches?

  Everyone looked at Dawna expectantly.

  “They're both witches,” Dawna said breezily. “Margaret and Zinnia are witches.”

  Zinnia had to remind herself to keep breathing. At hearing her secret revealed, she'd nearly turned to stone. Margaret had a more violent reaction. She sent a dozen shin kicks under the desk at Zinnia, rapid-fire.

  Zinnia let out a startled pain yip.

  Margaret began to laugh in a high, hysterical pitch. Zinnia joined her. Was she laughing too loud? Not loud enough? Would someone change the topic, please?

  Everyone stared at Zinnia and Margaret. Dawna looked thrilled. Gavin looked smug. Jesse's facial muscles kept moving, like he didn't know how to feel, let alone react.

  Zinnia stifled her fake laughter and quickly asked Dawna, “What about Karl?” If nobody else was going to change the topic, she would. “Dawna, what kind of powers does Karl have?”

  Dawna smirked. “I don't want to spoil it for everyone.”

  Zinnia said, “Feel free to spoil away. I promise I'll still read the book, even if I know some of the twists. With my favorite stories, I love re-reading them, and knowing the twists can actually make everything better.”

  Dawna bounced her eyebrows excitedly. “Okay. Everyone's gonna love this.” She relished the attention for a few seconds. “Karl is a troll named Lark.”

  Everyone glanced around at each other before slowly nodding. Karl was a troll named Lark. It was perfect.

  Jesse circled around Gavin and Dawna's shared work station to peer at Dawna's computer screen. “What's my power in the book? Can you show me?”

  “Oh, it's boring,” Dawna said with a hand wave. “You might have guessed that already, since your character's name is also Jesse.”

  Jesse slouched and lolled his head to one side, conveying disappointment. “I guess my secrets weren't juicy enough for Annette to scramble my name.”

  “Your name is tough,” Dawna said apologetically. “She couldn't have done much with J-E-S-S-E.”

  Jesse grimaced. “How lame are my powers? You can tell me. I can take it.” He took a seat on her desk.

  “How lame? More like no powers at all.” Dawna scratched her chin with her long orange fingernails. “Jesse in the book is a lot like the narrator, because neither of them have any special skills. Maybe it's something Annette was saving up for the sequel.” She waved her hand. “Either way, Jesse doesn't do much, except stop some bullying in the high school. He does win a swimming tournament, but that's about it.”

  Jesse shrugged. “I'm okay with that. And I am a good swimmer, so she got that right.”

  Dawna was about to say something else, but the ringing of a bell interrupted her. Everyone turned toward the front counter.

  Nobody was there.

  “That's strange,” Margaret said. “I swear I heard the bell ring.”

  Suddenly, a hand appeared over the top of the front counter. Carrot shrieked. The hand swatted the service bell repeatedly.

  The voice of an older gentleman called out, “Who do I have to stab around here to get some service?” Then he cursed all municipal employees in general for good measure.

  Everyone rushed up to the counter and looked over the edge to see a familiar customer. It was Randall Wheelchuck, also known around town as Old Man Wheelie. He sat on his trusty mobility scooter, which he had managed to ride in without alerting the staff to his presence.

  “This is my least favorite time of year,” Wheelchuck ranted. “Every January, I have to come to this godforsaken office to get the permit for my godforsaken Class Three Invalid Carriage, which is an offensive term as far as I'm concerned.” He blinked up at them from his seat on the scooter. “Why are you all staring at me? Did I roll through something stinky?” He made a show of checking his wheels and sniffing loudly.

  “We didn't hear you come in,” Carrot said, wringing her hands.

  “Of course not! You were all wagging your chins about some nonsense.” He leaned left and right, looking through them. “Where's the only person who knows what's going on around here? The woman. The sexy one with the big eyes and the brown curly hair.” He snapped his fingers. “Annette Scholem. That's her name. What have you done with her?”

  Chapter 15

  One Year Ago

  10:15 am

  On Randall Wheelchuck's previous visit to the Wisteria Permits Department, it had also been Carrot Greyson who'd tried to assist the man. Her desk, which was one of the two smaller ones that weren't shared with another coworker, was closest to the reception counter. Zinnia judged that by the way Carrot jumped up without hesitation, she was the one who helped the majority of the walk-in customers. Zinnia had been working in the office for a few days now, and she was starting to get a feel for how things worked.

  Zinnia liked Carrot. The young woman had an unusual appearance, with her many tattoos, and her cute little bug eyes, and her bright orange hair, but she was a dedicated worker who didn't create drama. Zinnia could see the two of them becoming friends over time.

  That morning, the orange-haired young woman leaned across the tall counter to speak down to an older gentleman who'd arrived on a mobility scooter.

  He muttered something Zinnia couldn't hear.

  “This isn't the right department for the permit you want,” Carrot said. “I'm so sorry for any misunderstanding.”

  His voice rose up loud enough for everyone to hear clearly. “You're not sorry, and this is not a misunderstanding.”

  Carrot said, “Um.”

  Zinnia felt sorry for the young woman, but Zinnia was so new there, she didn't feel it would be her place to come to Carrot's assistance. Not yet, anyway.

  The man demanded, “What the heck happened to your hair? That's the same color as a mango. It's not a color the good Lord intended hair to be.”

  Zinnia suppressed a smirk. The man had a point.

  Carrot said, “Um, sir, my hair is an expression of how I feel. And I'm truly sorry, but we can't issue you the permit for your scooter.”

  “You could if you wanted to! If you tried harder, I bet you could!” He took a break from yelling to mutter, “Lazy government employees.”

  “Um...” Carrot glanced over her shoulder at her coworkers, who were all watching the exchange. That was, everyone except for Gavin Gorman, who was pretending to work. Gavin had, from what Zinnia had observed over her first few days, “selective hearing” when it came to anyone needing help at the front counter.

  The old man continued ranting. “Just give me my permit so I can get out of this godforsaken building! This place is haunted, did you know that?”

  Carrot's voice trembled. “Haunted? City Hall?”

  “That's right,” he said, with a dash of mischief in his gruff voice. “Haunted by the spirits of municipal employees who didn't do their jobs, and got what they had coming to them!”

  Carrot's hands fluttered like birds before she clutched them to her chest. “Sir, is that a threat?”

  “Of course not!” He waved both hands in the air. His hands were the only part of him Zinnia could see from her seat at her desk, but she had a good idea of what the man looked like based on his voice and personality.

  He yelled, “Just give me my godforsaken permit and I'll be outta your hair tooty-sweet. You know what tooty-sweet means, don't you? It's Fr
ench.”

  “Oh,” Carrot said with interest, as though he wasn't a raving lunatic at all. “I know tutti frutti, but not that one.”

  But Zinnia did. The man's version of tout de suite, a French expression for immediately, came out sounding like tooty-sweet. Under more pleasant circumstances, his funny mispronunciation would be charming. Zinnia had enjoyed the way her niece, Zara, had said the word hamburger as a child. Hangaburger. She wondered, what was Zara up to these days? The little girl was all grown up now, in her thirties. The last time they'd seen each other had been at the funeral. Poor thing. Raising her child all by herself. It was a shame the Riddle family wasn't closer. Zinnia might have been able to guide Zara in some way, help her avoid the same mistakes she'd made.

  As Zinnia's mind wandered, the older gentleman continued to argue with Carrot about everything from the education level of kids her age to the temperature of the reception area and lack of accessibility within the town in general.

  Zinnia's ears perked up again when she heard the man demand, “And why's it called City Hall, anyway? Wisteria is a town, not a city. This building should be called Town Hall. Why is it City Hall? Well? Can you answer me that?”

  Carrot, flummoxed, turned to her coworkers for help.

  Zinnia tilted her head to the side, equally flummoxed. She was new to the office, but not to Wisteria, and yet she didn't know the answer. Why was the big municipal building called City Hall? She'd never given it a second thought until now.

  Dawna, however, had something to say. The stylish black woman got out of her chair and sauntered over to the reception desk. She leaned over it right next to Carrot. Zinnia noted that Dawna's nails were the same shade of orange as Carrot's hair, and Carrot's nails were black, matching Dawna's hair. Zinnia liked that they matched. She appreciated things that matched in general. It was good to take pleasure in the small synchronicities of life.

  Dawna spoke in an exasperated yet civil tone. “Mr. Wheelchuck, we went over all of this last year when you came in. Number one, you need to go get your permit up at the DMV. That's the D-M-V. The Department of Motor Vehicles. It's on the second floor.” The man tried to interrupt, protesting that he knew what DMV stood for, but Dawna cut him off with her voice, growing louder. “Number two, the town's founding families laid out plans for a whopping big city, and they marked a spot on the map for this building as the City Hall site, so when folks built it, that's what it was called. And, more importantly,” she put both of her hands around her mouth, like a bullhorn, “nobody ‘round here cares what it's called!”