— To cure baldness?
- Not exactly. She looked at my hair appraisingly. "Your hair looks fine." So what miracle did you come shopping for?
“I'm looking for…information about werewolves. “I scratched my head. This conversation was ridiculous. I couldn't believe I was doing this. I was a rational person. I believed in the scientific method. He knew crystals had no healing properties. Why was I in an occult shop talking to an elderly person? “I mean…werewolf myths.
— I have a few books on the subject. But why don't you ask your friend?
- There is?
- Please honey. I may be an old lady, but I can smell werewolf a mile away, and you reek of it.
- Me what? I looked around the shop, but it was empty. I lowered my voice. "Do you know about werewolves?"
- Clear. She slammed the bottle down on the counter. “You didn't think I'd run a shop like this and not know anything about shifters. I'm Clara, by the way. My own children transform, you know?
- Same? — This conversation only lasted a few minutes and had already turned into the bizarre world.
Clara nodded.
“They didn't get it from me. I'm purely human. But their father was a vulpine, which is a fox shifter, and both of my sons inherited his genes. Shapeshifters are far more common than you might think, though werewolves are very scarce in England these days. So what do you want to know about werewolves? You can also ask me. I can probably tell you more than any book.
"I don't…" I took a deep breath. “I think I want to know about their mates. - Like this?
"What does it mean when someone… when they call you mate?"
“Under most circumstances, it means you're a very lucky girl. Clara smiled. “Shifters, especially wolves, are caretakers. They are fiercely protective of their mates and will do absolutely anything for them, including taking a bullet if that's the case. Is it a bite I see on your neck?
I pulled the collar of my shirt down so she could see the red mark on my collarbone.
“Oh. I see that you have an immediate need for this information. Werewolf mating is pretty straightforward, by shapeshifter standards. Werewolves are generally male and are instantly attracted to human women who possess the wolf genes. Many werewolves speak of a magnetic pull or energy flowing through their veins when they meet women and instantly know they are meant to spend the rest of their lives together. Some women feel the same attraction.
“That seems preposterous. I rubbed my arms, remembering the way my body tingled and circled with heat when I was around Josh. Was that what she was talking about? Was this feeling more than just attraction?
- Looks? Love at first sight happens all the time, between human couples. There are several scientific works on the subject, and many believe that it evolved as a physiological response to environmental pressures. Why shouldn't it express itself as a physical feature?
Wow. Clara spoke my language. She gave me a shy smile.
“I get a lot of skeptics here, young lady. I learned that the best way to talk to them is to find a way to relate rather than getting into an argument.
"I can't imagine anyone arguing with you." - I smiled. I liked this lady. "So you know a lot of werewolves?"
- No. As I said, there aren't many in England right now. Most of them stick to countries that already have a wolf population. It makes their lives easier if they are already seen outside in their wolf form. I have a few regulars, but this week has been one of my busiest, with all these new wolves in town. Like the last customer, for example.
"Was he a werewolf?" How do you know?
- The smell. It's obvious when you get used to it. Clara sniffed. “Besides, he was after those pills.
She threw the pot into my hand. I read the handwritten label. “Lycan pills: take twice daily until full moon.”
“Many wolves find that the pills help them shorten their time under the moon's spell and control their wolf urges. I make them myself, and I usually have enough for my regulars, but this week's new wolves have depleted my supply, as you may have heard.
"When did these new wolves appear in town?" “Josh had said he was protecting the site from potential threats. It would be too much of a coincidence for more werewolves to appear in DownMoor at the time the caves were being excavated.
— There is a ranger in the forest. He arrived two days ago. Clara gave me a look. "I think this is your man."
—Josh. It's him. How do you know he's a forest ranger?
- He told me. We had a lovely chat. He's a wonderful boy, a little tough, but his heart is pure. Your family has a long DownMoor history. Good to see a Lowe back here.
"Do you know all about the Lowe pack?" About what happened?
She nodded.
“Yes, but that's ancient history, of course. Now, there would be few here in DownMoor who would remember that child's death, and of those who remained, probably none who would care, unless there was a descendant of Robert Peyton who still carried on his anti-shifter fervor.
“That seems unlikely. And the other wolves?
“I had my regulars and that man this morning. I've never seen him before. I would stay away from him if I were you.
My stomach twisted with nerves.
- Why?
“He smelled his wolf Lowe on you and probably sensed your genes. He knows you are a viable mate and that another wolf has claimed you. A wolf whose family name has long been disgraced. He may try to claim you on his own.
- He can do that? Am I not the one to decide?
“In the past, it wasn't uncommon for rival packs to clash over viable females. Most of that behavior no longer occurs today, what with the wolf feminist movement and all, but some wolves still follow the old ways. He struck me as the latter type.
My stomach tightened. I came to the village to escape this werewolf stuff for a few hours, to give myself some time to think. The last thing I needed was to be stuck in the middle of a territorial battle of wolves over the right to my pussy.
- What do I do? Is there some kind of anti-wolf spray I can use?
“I'm afraid no spell is powerful enough to repel a lycanthrope's primordial energy. Clara smiled, slamming a stack of decks of black cards down on the counter. “I can sell you a deck of DownMoor tarot cards. Each card has different photos of DownMoor's famous spiritual landmarks. They also have play instructions inside.
— Instructions on how to play?
“Tarot cards were originally designed as playing cards,” Clara placed a deck in front of me. “If you're in the middle of the woods, maybe you could use a little entertainment.
- Thanks. I paid a deck of cards and Clara threw a flyer about shifters into the bag. “A lot of it is New Age code. She pointed a gnarled finger at the howling wolf and full moon on the cloak. “But if you want good general information about shapeshifters, it's a good place to start.
- Thanks.
- You are welcome. I just hope what I said didn't confuse you even more.
— Confused me?
Clara's gentle eyes met mine.
“I was exactly in your position once, my dear. I loved a shapeshifter, but I had to weigh the decision to follow my heart against a world of doubts.
“I… I've only known Josh a few days,” I said. "It's too soon to say I love you."
- If you say. She went back to the counter and began rearranging the quartz pyramids with slender fingers. “If you have any more questions, come back here and I'll try to help you.
- Thanks. I ran out the door, my mind reeling. I entered Astarte expecting some clarity, but instead I felt more confused and scared than ever.
I went home. My mother was lying on the sofa, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, an open album in her hands.
- Hi Mom. “I kissed her on the forehead. 'I brought you a Cornish pastry and a new tarot deck.' I thought you and Cynthia would like to try my luck.
She didn't answer, her eyes barely registering my presence. My gaze fell on the photo album and I was surprised to realize the photographs weren't of my father. It was me and Ben. Pictures of us smiling under the family Christmas tree, walking along Hadrian's Wall last summer, marching in a student protest against the Iraq War. From each image, Ben's animated face smiled at me. My heart pounded. Why was she doing this to herself?
— Allora. Mom blinked. Fresh tears rolled down her face. She reached out and hugged me with thin, weak arms. — Are you okay? Did you come home to be with me?
"I'm just here to take a shower and pick up a few things." I'm living at the farm for the next three weeks, remember?
—Oh! ’ Her face fell. She clearly didn't remember anything.
— Why don't you call Cynthia to come? She could help her finish the Monet puzzle she started. The box was still on the kitchen table, the edge finished, a few splashes of color dotted in the center. It didn't look like she had any more pieces since the last time I was home.
Mom's eyes closed. She clutched the scrapbook to her chest.
“No, I don't think so.
I sighed.
- All good. I'm going to take a shower and then I'm going to have some tea.
The only advantage of having a catatonic grieving mother was that I didn't have to listen to her complain about my smell. I took a long shower, using an entire bar of soap, and tried not to let my mother's behavior get to me. As I soaped my body for the fourth time, my sadness at seeing her like that turned to anger. When I was eighteen and we lost Dad, I had to hold things together as it fell apart. I had to cook and clean the house, pay the bills, and deal with the lawyer and the funeral home. And I did it as the pain of losing my father crushed my heart. I did it for her, so she could break down and retreat into her own private grief.
Which probably explained how I was able to move on after Ben died. Keeping busy was the only way I knew how to deal with the pain. The university suggested I take a semester off, but I put my foot down and ended up with top grades in the entire department. I continued doing everything I had been doing before, while my mother returned to the same private world.
Seeing her sprawled on the couch made my body burn with rage. I was the one who lost my partner this time, and yet I wasn't able to lie down and cry and grieve. I had to control myself to deal with her. And what did your pain achieve? What did your tears help? Dad and Ben lost their lives, and Mom was wasting hers. I didn't want to do this.
After changing my clothes, I made Mom some tea, washed my dirty and muddy clothes and sent the pictures to the university. I tried calling Derek to ask about werewolf myths, but he wasn't answering his phone. Lately, Derek had been strangely obsessed with writing his family history. He had been working on the project since sophomore year and had been collecting all kinds of information about his ancestors since the 1700s. Apparently, someone in his family was a famous witch hunter. As a mythology student, this was the kind of thing Derek loved. When he went out on his research, he was so absorbed that he was unapproachable. I expected him to show up and return my message soon.
“I'm leaving now,” I told my mom as I grabbed my clothes from the dryer.
- Okay. She didn't look up from the couch.
— Please eat your pastry.
- I am going to eat. ’ She made no move to pick up the paper bag.
"I'll probably be back in a few days." I stood in the doorway, wanting to say so much more but not knowing where to start.
“Yes,” she said. — Can you bring something for dinner?
I sighed.
“I won't be home for dinner,” I said through clenched teeth.
— Oh.
I held the door open, letting the icy wind blow in, waiting for her to say something else.
Goodbye, daughter. Enjoy the dig. I hope you have fun. Did you discover something wonderful? Have you met any sexy werewolves?
But she didn't say anything.
I closed the door behind me, locking it from the inside. I debated calling Cynthia and telling her to come over and stay with Mom, but thought better of it. Mom probably wouldn't even answer the door.
Behind the wheel of the Mini, my mind whirred through everything I discovered through Clara. This other wolf, he had to be there because of the caves. Would things get dangerous? As I approached the forest, my stomach fluttered nervously. I wasn't sure what I'd find when I got back, and I worried about Josh alone, unaware that there were other wolves in the territory.
When I finally reached the site and pulled up beside Frances's beat-up jeep, I noticed two unfamiliar vans. White, with the BBC logo emblazoned on the side. Frances's campaign was already underway. I put my bag in my tent. On my bed was a small square of paper. I unfolded it and read a message scrawled in black ink.
allora
I have to see you again. Meet me at the old oak tree at midnight. I promise you won't get hurt.
josh
My hand shook as I stuffed the note in my pocket. I would go? I had no choice. I needed to tell Josh what I'd seen. Even if he was in his wolf form, I hoped he would be able to understand my words and be on his guard.
My chest tightened. If something happened to him… I didn't want to think about it.
I can't lose another person I love. I just can't.
I love? The word stopped me. Why did I think that? I didn't love Josh. Couldn't love. I'd known Josh for three days, and for most of that time, he'd been completely shitty with me. I had a deeper, more meaningful relationship with the guy who delivered our pizza. I liked him for sure. He was incredibly sexy, and the thought of him made butterflies flutter in my stomach. But it wasn't love. It couldn't be love.
So why are you planning to meet him again at midnight despite the danger?
“Shut up, brain,” I said aloud as I folded my clean clothes and put them in my bag. Great, now I was talking to myself. I was sleeping with a werewolf and talking to myself. At this rate, I'd be locked up in an insane asylum by the end of the week.
With a film crew on location, I had to look at least halfway decent, especially if I wanted to fill in for Ruth. I was already dressed in a clean shirt and jeans, so I ran a brush through my hair and put on some makeup, squinting in my small compact mirror while highlighting my eyes with a brow pencil. No wonder Frances screwed up hers so badly. If someone invented a camping makeup kit, they would make a fortune.
I made my way to the caves, arriving just as the camera crew began to roll. They had set up giant tents to protect their equipment from the rain at the entrance to the cave. Frances was behind the director. She waved me to be quiet. I slowed my pace, moving carefully so as not to step on too many branches or dead leaves, and stayed beside her.
Ruth stood in front of the cave, smiling her infuriatingly cheerful smile as she described the rock formations and geology of the area. She'd probably spent all morning poring over this while fixing her hair and makeup: her short, blond hair was impeccably styled, not a hair out of place. Her eyes were lined, and a hint of pink highlighted her lips. She looked like she belonged in a toothpaste commercial instead of in the middle of an English forest in the pouring rain.
In the middle of his speech, the director shouted cut to reposition the cameras. Ruth looked at her face in a compact mirror. My stomach boiled with envy. It should have been me there, talking about the place.
“Why is Ruth in front of the camera?” I hissed at Frances.
"I thought she might have a chance to get involved," she replied. “Ruth is so excited about this discovery. Cave paintings are your specialty, you know. His master's thesis was on the caves at Lascaux.
Cave paintings are her specialty, and she still hasn't figured out they're less than a hundred years old, I thought but didn't say.
The camera started to roll again. I watched as Ruth gestured to the rocks as she explained how the caves had formed from water flowing over the ridges. Water trickled over the edge of the tent and down the back of my sweater, the cold water sliding over my skin.
Enough!, I said to myself, as a large drip landed in the center of my head. I've already seized the moment, missed opportunities because I'm too kind to talk. I'm tired of being so busy surviving the various tragedies in my life and taking care of everyone else. It's time to take care of me.
One way or another, without hurting Josh or jeopardizing his claim to rightful territory, I was going to expose the paintings as a fake. If I didn't get the credit for making the greatest archaeological discovery in the history of England, then it would be all right to take the credit for exposing it as a fraud.