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I shook my head. “I was about to cancel on him.”
Wyatt set the flowers on the table. “Why? What happened this afternoon?”
Samson jumped first, Igor after him. Together the pair sniffed, pawed, and attempted to sample the wrapping.
“Nothing." My cheeks felt warm. “I realized I’m going out on leave for a week and left no instructions for my restoration of Ritual Conduit. I completed the evaluation and haven’t outlined treatment recommendations. I need to get in my office ASAP.”
“After that news, you’re heading out?”
After that news, I wasn’t so sure myself, but I nodded.
“Don’t be stupid.” Lisa passed me a pair of scissors to remove the cellophane. “Your boss will forgive you.”
“She won’t.” But if I wound up fired thanks to Maggie, this was the perfect excuse. “There’s a lot riding on this restoration. It’s a tight timeline.”
“Then have the sheriff go with you.”
I began the delicate process of removing the plastic from the flowers. The second the plastic was lifted, Igor dove in. “Pretty sure he’s busy tonight, given he just cancelled.”
“In person though. He wanted to see you. If you call right now and tell him your dumb idea, I bet he’d give you a lift. He might even still be in the parking lot.” Lisa pushed my phone across the table. “Go on. I know it’s a messy situation, but he is the epitome of the excitement you’ve been craving.”
“Excitement’s overrated.” I scratched Samson’s chin. “I owe Keith an apology.”
“Aim high, Marcy!” Wyatt called from the dining room. “Settle later.”
Lisa sent a warm smile toward her partner. “You never know what one wild, crazy night could lead to.”
“I barely survived the last night. Not keen on instigating another.”
“Yet you’re going to a largely empty building downtown after hours knowing some creep has been watching you?” She pushed the sleeve of her sweatshirt back. “Look, goosebumps.”
“Have to, Lis.” I tugged a small, green envelope from Igor’s teeth.
The exterior was an embossed flower: typical florist’s insignia. Inside was taped a print of a famous colonial drawing, one I'd seen in history books, paintings, and flying over Stephen’s yard: a serpent segmented into eighths, captioned by the words, 'Join, or Die.'
“Well?” Lisa asked, devious grin spreading ear to ear.
“Yeah, I’m not coming back before morning,” I said, pocketing the card before she could see. “Gotta run.”
“You kids have fun!”
???
The small town, mom and pop hardware store Lisa and I frequented stayed open until nine except on holidays. I hustled in with fifteen minutes to spare. When all was said and done, a new shovel leaned against my hip as I made room in a trunk crowded with restoration supplies. I’d already fit my other new purchases: a high-powered flashlight, batteries, and the largest bottle of Gatorade I could find. The glow from the store dimmed as the overheads flicked off section by section. Mine was the last car apart from employee parking.
The lot backed a community baseball field and wooded residential area—nothing else prominent for a good mile—and nothing else visible in this evening’s thickening fog.
As my hand fell on the top of the trunk, a distinct, gravelly crunch echoed from the direction of the field. A lupine wraith bounded forward with widening jaws. The shovel clattered to the ground. I slammed the trunk and bolted for the driver’s side.
Sirens blaring, lights flashing, the sheriff’s truck pulled into the lot. On all fours, the werewolf turned, jumped the fence near the third-base dugout, and loped across the pitcher’s mound into the outfield. At the absolute edge of my vision, five shadows condensed around it.
A howl struck up, discordant and alien, then the wolves had moved on and the sheriff in. He pulled within a few feet and rolled down his window.
“Told you it’s harder to run hobbled.”
Giving up on the trunk, I slid the shovel into the backseat and smiled up at him. “Another minute and you would’ve scored a free shovel.”
“Awful late for yard work, Miss Davins.”
