by Red, Lynn
Suddenly, Damon’s eyes went back to being glazed over, and he got heavier. Like really, really heavy.
“Hunter,” I grunted. Flexing my legs, I was able to keep him from falling over on me, but only barely. “Can you… uh…”
He ran over, grabbed Damon’s arm, and somehow, we managed to get him to the couch. As soon as he hit the cushion – maybe before – he was dead asleep.
“Does that happen too?”
Hunter laughed. “Uh yeah, that’s… I’m amazed he even made it back here. Usually it takes people awhile to get their bearings.”
“He had some times before,” I said, looking down to make sure Damon wasn’t having trouble breathing or… something, I’m not really sure what to look out for in an over-exhausted werewolf as a warning sign. “But it was never like this he was always kinda… taken over.”
“Well,” Hunter said, with a lot more seriousness than I expected. “That’s how it can be. But once we learn to control our transformations, they get a lot less violent.”
Damon snorted, rolled over and right off the couch, onto the floor.
“He’s content,” I said, laughing. “Is it all right if I take your… wait, you don’t ride a motorcycle do you? In Fort Branch that’s kind of a werewolf creed.”
“That was abrupt,” he said with a laugh. “And no, but I have a four-wheeler out back if you need to sate your loud-and-muddy desires. Otherwise, it’s the Toyota.”
Somehow, the idea of him driving a reasonable family sedan sent a shudder through me. He tossed over the keys from the counter.
“By the way, where are you going? It’s kinda early still.”
“Just to the courthouse. I got a hunch that this isn’t the first time something mysterious has happened here. Figure I’ll put my own talents to some use. Poke through the old papers, see if anything turns up.”
Hunter was staring at me, shaking his head. “I see what he sees in you.”
Normally if someone said that to me, I’d take it as some kind of semi-subtle wolf-whistle, but in this case, I took it for what I think it was – a simple compliment. Me and compliments. There’s a whole catalog of books I could write about that.
But just as I turned to leave, he called me again.
“Lily?”
“Yeah?”
Damon grunted and rolled over, leg thrown up on the couch. A second later, he was out again.
“Good luck. I’ll take care of the sleeping giant.”
The chill from only a couple of hours before was already gone, replaced by heat from the blazing sun. I only had four hours. I had to make them count.
Five
I’m not exactly the sort of person to want to be around other people all the time. Don’t get me wrong – I liked Hunter, and there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than in Damon’s arms, feeling his kisses on my lips, his hands running up and down my back.
But sometimes, the fact that I can only take so much of others, even ones I like, becomes incredibly clear to me. I get jittery and nervous and I talk too damn much. I make jokes that even I know aren’t funny just to fill time and make sure there’s no silence.
Sometimes, my joking even got me irritated.
My phone buzzing in my purse startled me as I turned into a parking space and turned off Hunter’s hilariously reasonable gold-colored Carolla.
The number that popped up belonged to Jolie Evers, the submissions editor at the New York Times who got me started, like really started – writing. She got me to write up a bunch of the desert folktales that Grandpa Joe told me. Of course, I ended up adding a whole lot of totally unbelievable werewolf stories that I’m sure sounded ridiculous to anyone who read them.
Well, anyone who wasn’t a werewolf.
“Lily?” she was talking before I even got my phone to my ear. “You there?”
“Hey Jolie, how’s things?” We’d long since established that neither of us was very comfortable with being called miss-anything. I’d noticed without even asking that there was a certain twinge to her voice I’d never heard before, even when we were up against deadlines. “Is everything okay?”
She was distracted as usual. Something sounded like a goose honking on her end of the line. “Ugh, shit, hold on a second. Got an email from the big boss. Did you hear that noise?”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Yeah, was that what that goose noise was?” I opened the door and swung my legs out into the sun. The heat radiating against my khakis felt really good for some reason, warming me all the way through.
“Jackass makes everyone have these weird personalized email tones for… uh, let’s see, what did he call it? Oh right I’ve got it posted above my door on an inspirational placard with a picture of two kids riding one horse. Superior synergy it says. Jesus Christ.”
“Uh-huh,” I said with a little laugh. “That’d just about drive me nuts. Do you need to call me back?” I asked, trying to give her an out if she needed one. “I was just about to go into this courthouse and do some poking around in old newspapers. I might have a new story for you?”
“Really?” she had a half-elated, half-relieved tone in her voice. “I was just about to ask you if there was any spooky stuff you could write about for an issue a couple of weeks from now. What do you have for me?”
“I’m not really sure,” I said.
Jolie let a huff of air out.
“I mean, I know I have something, but I don’t know what the angle is yet. But there’s definitely a story.”
“Oh, okay. That’s better than nothing. It is more spooky stuff right? That werewolf business was a huge hit. Please tell me it’s more spooky stuff.”
“For sure,” I said. “Damon and I,” I chewed my lip for a second, not really sure how to explain this without sounding like the world’s most prizewinning crazy-person. “He got called away on some business to a little town called Scagg’s Valley in So-Cal. Anyway, yeah, definitely some weird stories coming your way.”
It was like she barely even heard me. Which… was a very good thing.
“Yeah, that sounds great. As long as it’s witchy or whatever, you’ll be golden. And on top of that you’ll really be saving my ass. Oh, and just so you know it won’t be running in the Saturday magazine insert again.”
“It won’t? But then…”
“Sunday paper, three weeks from now. It’ll run probably at the front of the human interest section. Even if it’s about things that don’t exist. Or, you know, whatever. You’re hot shit in New York, Lily. I’m still getting emails and even a couple of letters from people too old to email about that story. Please, please, please tell me you can do it.”
I had to close my mouth before I could use it to talk. “I, uh, yeah,” I stammered. “Of course I can. Three weeks… need it in two?”
“You can write. I’m sure whatever you give me won’t need much re-working. Tell you what. It’s due to press three Saturdays from now, so get it to me by the Thursday before. Say… a thousand words?”
“A thousand? That’s—”
“Damn near a full page. You’re my new nuke, Lily, you know that. Feel free to say no. Please say no if you don’t want to or can’t or if this is going to stress you out.”
“No!” I screamed inside my head. A thousand words? The lead-off story in the Sunday Times? That was… I mean, there’s crazy and then there’s that kind of crazy. A year ago I figured I might be able to sell an article here and there and now I’m sitting out front of a city courthouse about to go root through old newspapers to try and solve a murder. And then I’m going to write about it?
“Yeah,” I felt myself say. “Yeah, of course. Three…” I checked my watch because I’m the kind of girl who still wears one. “Three weeks from tomorrow. I can definitely do that. Oh! Before you go!”
“Anything for my nuke,” Jolie said. “Anything at all. You’re my hit maker. Tell me what you need.”
“Well,” I said slowly, considering my words. “It may be nothing, b
ut I’m going into this small town courthouse to poke around in their records, their back issued newspapers and things, and—”
“Ugh, how small are we talking?”
“About five thousand people? Somewhere around there.” I answered. Really, I had no idea, but it seemed about right. “Kind of a good ol’ boy town.”
“Need me to get you in?” she was getting antsy.
“Maybe. Can I give your number as a contact?”
“Yeah, of course. Just don’t tell them I’m a woman.”
That got me laughing. “Not a woman. Got it. Jules… Evers?”
She snorted a laugh. “I needed that, Lily. All right, Jules Evers, signing out. Christ, that makes me sound like I’m in a Spider-man comic. Need anything else?”
“Nope,” I said. “Thanks again. You’re the best, Jolie.”
“Make me proud,” she said, and then hung up before I could respond.
Stepping toward the building, I felt a twinge in my stomach.
If I was going to be useful to Damon or to Jolie, or to anyone else, the first step was for me to trust that I could be useful. No doubting myself and figuring that I was just along for the ride. I had to make myself believe that I was necessary.
It’s funny how simple things like that can be the hardest to swallow.
Nodding inwardly to steel my nerves, I pushed open the incredibly heavy door with the shatter-proof wires running through the glass.
*
The way to the records department was long and winding. From the front of the monolithic white building, I never imagined it’d be so big inside, but there I was, weaving my way through a labyrinth of halls and double doors until I was finally spit out into a very clean and stereotypically dour room lined with shelves.
“Hello?” An almost overly-proper looking man with circular framed glasses stood up from behind a desk. “Are you here for… the records?”
What, am I the first one ever?
“Hi,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Lily Kyle, and I’ve heard some really interesting things about the town. My editor wanted me to check out the local folklore, that kind of thing.”
“Oh, I see,” he said. “Most people simply call me Carrell. Might I call you Lily?”
Something about this man was incredibly… wrong. It was like my brain started tingling when I looked at him. And then, when he shook my hand, every one of my suspicions came true. Carrell’s hand was a little warmer than it should have been, and about four times as clammy as it needed to be. I shook it as quickly as I could and pulled away, trying to downplay my revulsion.
“Yes,” I swallowed hard. “Sorry, of course. Lily is fine.”
And then there it was again. Something in my brain, like a neuron firing a little harder than normal, shot a chill down my back.
He twitched his nose.
“What can I help you with?” he asked. “Is there some particular thing you’re researching?”
“Not specifically,” I lied through my teeth. If he could tell he made no indication of it. “I normally do stories about folklore, crime, that sort of thing. Just, you know, keep it fresh.”
“Fresh?” he looked down the bridge of his slightly crooked nose at me.
He was a little like a vulture with a full head of hair. His shoulders were sort of slumped, but that could have easily been posture as much as age. Carrell didn’t look very old in the face, but his clothes – a three piece suit in the most inoffensive beige color possible – were from a different century.
“Oh, well what I mean is, I tend to write about old folktales. The kind that get buried and forgotten about.”
“We?”
“Sorry,” I said, pretending like I was flustered. “We meaning the New York Times. My editor is Jol—ah, Jules Evers. He likes things that are… what did he say? Oh, right, witchy. That time of year, I guess.”
“Hmm,” he said, examining the card I handed him, turning it over in his hands. I noticed that he was looking past it and straight at me as he did. “I see. What can I help you with?”
I briefly told him, in the vaguest terms possible, what I was after. Murders, old ones, where there were strange circumstances involved. His answer for me was a large, and very old – and very dusty – ledger book with a whole lot of numbers in it.
“Tell me which collections you want to see, and these contain newspapers and other…” he fluttered his fingers, “materials. I’ll bring you whatever ones you want to look at. No photography, no pens. So that,” he crooked an eyebrow at the phone I had pulled out of my pocket when I handed him my business card, “needs to stay off and put away.”
Never exactly seen anyone react to a cell phone like they were Dracula having a lump of garlic stuck in his face.
“Of course, sure,” I said. “Doesn’t get reception down here anyway.”
At first, I was hopeful. There were a handful of murders reported through the years that reminded me of what Damon described. Bodies discovered chained up and all that. But all the bodies were reported as normal, which unless the police reports were simply lies, couldn’t be werewolves.
Box after box of newspapers, loose files, torn up letters and everything else that I could go through shed very little light on much of anything. About the only useful information there was to get is that the town of Scagg’s Valley seemed to have a horrible desert drifter problem. The almost-homeless people who lived outside town got approximately one hundred percent of the blame for those old murders.
It reminded me of people just blaming “gypsies” for whatever bad things happened. None of it made sense, but there also were so many more boxes to go through that I knew I’d never manage in a day.
With noon looming, I remembered that Hunter needed his car soon, and gathered my things to take off.
Just as I opened the door, I heard a creaking chair and a hiss.
“Ma’am?” It was Carrell, and he was behind me a lot closer and quicker than he should have been. Suddenly I remembered the weird brain feelings he gave me, particularly when my skin started crawling as he put his fingers on my shoulder. “Will you be coming back to use the materials? Or may I,” he swallowed, and then licked his lips before continuing. “Shelve them?”
The way his voice tilted up at the end of his words was for some reason very unsettling, and I got the distinct feeling that I’d known him or met him before, though I knew that was impossible.
“N… no,” I said. “Not today anyhow.” I shifted a little and his hand fell off my shoulder.
Sometimes it’s the little blessings.
“I see. Well fine. That’s just fine. Tomorrow? From the amount of things you have on your list for me to pull, it’ll take quite some time to go through it all. I’d hate for you to leave unsatisfied in your research.”
I don’t know why, but I needed out then.
“Oh my God! Look at the time,” I said. “I’m late to meeting someone. You’ll have to excuse me.”
I don’t think I’ve ever left a place faster, or with more burning need to get the hell away from someone.
Out in the parking lot, I could finally breathe.
One heavy, deep inhale later, I found myself shaking, almost uncontrollably, as I slid into the car. When I was in and the door was locked, something really damn weird seemed to take hold of me.
I gripped the steering wheel so tight with one hand my fingers started to ache, and when I tried to get the keys out of my purse, my hand trembled so hard that I dropped them twice before getting them anywhere near the ignition.
It was like the air was getting crushed out of my chest. My lungs constricted, my heart pounded, and it was all I could do to get the car in gear and start out of the parking lot.
Almost the instant I began to get further from the courthouse, the tension inside me began to release, little by little, until it completely relaxed when I left the cramped little parking lot and pulled onto the road that led to Hunter’s house.
Instinctively I grabbed my
phone and immediately wished that Damon was a reasonable human being with a cell phone. Hunter would have to do.
He answered on the third ring. “Hey, you on the way back?” he asked.
“Yeah sorry, I got held up by the weird guy who works the archive desk at the courthouse. Is Damon okay?”
Just saying his name made me feel a little better.
Damon. Damon. Damon.
Repeating it in my mind brought me a weird sense of zen.
“Oh yeah he’s fine,” Hunter said. “He got up and ate some sausage. He’s back asleep now though. And I was right.”
“About?”
“About you and Damon. That boy’s absolutely screwed up over you.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “You have no idea how good it is to hear that,” I said.
I took a deep breath, held it in, and shook as it left my lungs. “Okay, just wanted to let you know I hadn’t forgotten. I’ll be there soon. Oh, Hunter?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you tell Damon that… uh, if he wakes up before I get there, anyway…”
“Yeah, I think he’s kinda rumbling around in there.”
“Tell him I love him.”
“Will do. See ya soon.”
The line went dead.
By then I’d almost completely forgotten the horror of only a few seconds before. Thinking about Damon made me feel better, but saying his name out loud made everything feel just right.
Six
Damon
The voices called again.
Just like before, in the darkest hours of the night, the wolves cried out for Damon.
When he opened his eyes, there was no need for them to adjust. Instantly, he focused and his senses came to life. He thought he could almost smell the moonlight, somehow.
Pushing up on an elbow, Damon kissed Lily’s neck right above her collarbones as her chest rose, then fell, with peaceful sleep. “Stay safe,” he said. “I’ll be back before you know I’m gone. I promise this time.”
Everything went smoother this time. Sliding out of his pajama pants and old Guns N’ Roses t-shirt that had long since faded, he stood in the window for a moment, the moonlight glinting off his naked body. As he stared, a slow drizzle came from the sky, wetting the badly paved road outside Hunter’s house.
