Page 47 of Faun Over Me

Cricket nodded, her tongue fat and heavy in her mouth. She’d known a lot of the land had been sold. She’d known the problem was only growing, but seeing it all laid out before her, each folder representing the piecemeal destruction of her home … it was almost too much to bear.

“Aint’t seen one of y’all in a few years. Good you’re still around, thought I might stumble upon ya when I was up that way.”

“I saw you,” she mumbled.

He smiled softly and nodded. “Suppose that’s why you’re here. Say hello next time. You know what you’re lookin’ for?”

“Um,” she swallowed. “Not really. Signatures?”

Charlie nodded and grabbed the topmost folder from the stack, setting it on the table and flipping it open.

“Registered agent’s signatures are here.” He pointed to a scrawled name she didn’t recognize and flipped the page. “Looks like they signed on behalf of Lunar Asset Management, and the buyer’s signatures are here, here, and here.” In quick succession, he tapped Avery’s signature down the page. One-two-three. “Looks like they signed as the personal representative of an estate. It’ll be the same in most of these; not many lawyers round here to manage the contracts, so ‘less that city boy took them down to Charleston to be notarized, the paperwork’s all the same.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him, and Charlie nodded back, patting the stack.

“Shame what’s happenin’ up there,” he said, wandering back behind his desk. “The whole place is goin’ to the dogs.”

That said, Charlie tucked into his book, and Cricket got to work. Digging through the files, she began to notice discrepancies in the signature. Not those of the registered agent but Avery’s. There was a stilted, careful quality to the handwriting even in the cursive humans were so fond of. The letters in Elizabeth and Avery didn’t connect in the seamless manner they should, whereas Payne was always scrawled with an easy stroke. Cricket pulled aside the most obvious ones, creating a stack of what, in her mind, was evidence.

The signatures became smoother over time, almost as if the signer had gotten more comfortable with the name and the flow. But it never changed. Always the same curve to the A and looped tail on the Y. For four years, the signature remained the same, and something about that stood out as odd. If someone were signing this many contracts, wouldn’t their hand get lazy? The signature less legible? But these never did. Each was as crisp and clear as the very first Elizabeth Avery, and then that sloppy Payne.

The front door slammed shut. Cricket jumped in her seat, hooves slipping on the sage and tan vinyl flooring. She shifted in the plastic chair, ears twitching at the sound of shoes slapping across the floor. A muscle in her back pinched, and she winced. How long had she been sitting here?

“Charlie, my man!” A broad-shouldered figure entered, leaning against the front counter with their back to her tiny table. A leather briefcase slapped on the formica, and the man shifted, his profile coming into view. Cricket straightened, bringing a hand up to smooth down her ears, which had perked in interest at the sight of the Georgia Man.

The one from Mac’s office.

“Got a few more for you,” he drawled, pulling a manila folder from his brief.

“The Johnsons sold?” Charlie sidled over, hands flying up the catch the folder as the man tossed it across the counter.

“That they did!” He flicked the front lapel of his coat aside to slide his hand into a pocket. The move sent a waft of cologne across the room, tickling Cricket’s nose with lavender and wintergreen. She clapped a hand over her nose and mouth, stifling a sneeze. The man glanced her way at the sound, eyes flicking over Cricket and her stack of folders. His brows rose, nostrils flaring, and he sent her the same wolfish grin he had from the parking lot at the camp. “Don’t suppose you’ve heard the rumors out of Green Bank, Chucko?” He faced Charlie, releasing Cricket to sag in her seat. “About that Wen—”

“We don’t use names round these parts, Mr. Wilkolak,” Charlie interrupted. “Best not to call attention to the things you don’t see in the woods.”

“Aw, c’mon, Chuck. You’ve never seen anything lurking in the pine?”

“No sir, I have not.” He shook his head and ducked beneath the counter, returning with a large self-inking stamp and punching it down far harder than necessary. Collecting the paperwork, Charlie wandered out of sight. The hum of a copy machine filled the silence, and the Georgia Man, Wilkolak, again looked in Cricket’s direction.

She jerked her face down, eyes burning from the stench of his cologne, strong enough to make her want to gag but not enough to hide the musk flowing from the man. His gaze was heavy, burning into the top of her head and making it hard to concentrate. She idly turned pages, her fingers beginning to tremble when Charlie returned.

“Here’re your copies, Mr. Wilkolak. We’ll have these filed in seven to ten days.”

Wilkolak faced Charlie, releasing Cricket from the weight of his direct gaze. She kept her head down as far as she could while still being able to watch him.“Pocahontas County is at the forefront of industry thanks to your hard work, Chuck.” He tore a check free from a leather folio, sliding it across the counter. “I expect you’ll see me again in a few days.”

“You so sure?” Charlie pressed back from the counter, eyes twitching to Cricket. She jerked up the folder in her hands, hiding her face. “The folks up in Green Bank don’t seem to be playin’ ball the way you’d like.”

“Oh, they will, Chuckles.” Wilkolak let out a barking, breathy sound that reminded Cricket of wolven laughter. “Give it a day, and they’ll come around. Keep that stamp of yours warmed up.”

“Will do, Mr. Wilkolak.”

“Always a pleasure.” Wilkolak snapped the clasps on his briefcase closed. “Say, how long does it take to drive to Elkwater from here? I’ve got a dinner to get to, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Less than an hour.”

“Excellent, excellent.” The soles of his shoes slapped against the vinyl flooring; he opened the door and—

Cricket peered over the folder when the slam never came. Wilkolak stood in the doorway, staring directly at her. Papers trembled in her grip, and his attention dropped to her hands before he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

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