Page 1 of The Healer and the Wolf: Part One

1

VANESSA

“We really want to see you be more of a team player,”I grumbled to myself as I pushed down the pedals with a fervor I didn’t often have for my bike ride home. But I wassteamed.Work was never very fun, but it was exceptionally awful lately, ever since Tiffany, the blonde terror, was named employee of the month.

“Come on. You can’t let her keep affecting you outside of work,” I lectured myself. “Just focus on the beautiful day.”

Easier said than done. While I wanted to pretend I was past the stupid high-school level of drama my coworker insisted on bringing to every shift we had together, she just wasso goodat getting under my skin, whether it was with passive aggressive comments or silly, mean girl behavior. It was just so exhausting.

It really made me want to find something else, but it wasn’t like I lived in a massive city. Unlike some places like New York City, or even St. Louis, the number of part-time jobs that would take on a college dropout were few and far between, and I was afraid if I took on full-time work, I wouldn’t be able to keep building up the little mini-homestead I’d dedicated the past few years of my life to.

Granted, considering it was a rental, it was foolish to putthatmuch work into it, but still. It wasn’t like I’d ever be able to buy a house with the economy being what it was, so I figured finding a landlord who was willing to pretty much let me do whatever in a corner of his property was like finding a needle in a haystack. He was elderly and didn’t really have any next-of-kin interested in maintaining the land, but I was more than happy to pick up the slack as long as I was allowed to do whatever I wanted to develop the land.

So far, I had a nice garden put in—smaller than I wanted but impressive, nonetheless—and a restored greenhouse. Was it the Ritz-Carlton? Hardly. But it wasmine.(Well, the landlord’s, but close enough.)

Was I in the most secure position for being twenty-six years old? No. But I knew plenty of people who were a lot worse off. I had a roof over my head, I had enough money to keep my cats healthy, and if something happened to my bike, I’d only have to wait one paycheck or so before I could buy a new one.

Well, anew to meone, but used was sometimes just as good as brand new.

I rolled my eyes at my own level of coping, and a flash of color grabbed my attention. I whipped my head in the direction of the vibrant orange. Sure enough, I’d spotted a beautiful clutch ofchicken of the woods.

“Oh, man!” I cried to no one, skidding to a stop. I wasn’t the biggest mushroom forager—I still had a ton to learn about mycology and how to identify dangerous fungi—but I knew chicken of the woods like the back of my hand.

“Jackpot,” I crowed as I rolled my bike over to the side of the road and leaned it against the tree. Once I was sure it wouldn’t flop over, I headed over to the rotting log, where the bright orange, cream, and yellow mushroom grew.

The mushroom got its name not only from how the shape mimicked the tail of a chicken, but also because it was an excellent meat replacement. One hundred grams of chicken of the woods contained twenty-one grams of protein. While everything was expensive lately, meat was especially so, and no matter my position in life, I wouldn’t turn my nose up at a delicious way to save money and stretch out my groceries. I could fry some up and throw it in rice for a dinner that cost less than a dollar.

Mood significantly bolstered, I took off my backpack that I always carried for reasons like this—after all, it wasn’t like women’s clothing hadpockets—and quickly began picking from the cluster.

It was quite the bounty, enough for at least three meals even with how much they tended to cook down. I found myself whistling as I stood, ready to sling my backpack over my shoulder once more.

But then I spotted some deadnettle a short way deeper into the woods, its pretty purple bells standing out with all the verdant green foliage and moss surrounding it. Wasn’t I running low on the salve I made from it?

“But do I reallyneedto pick that now?”

Who was I kidding? Of course I did!

It wasn’t that the salve I made was anecessity, but it was nice to have around. deadnettle had astringent properties, was purgative, a diuretic, and diaphoretic, as well as being anti-inflammatory, anti-fungal,andantibacterial. She was such a hard-working little thing, but most people dismissed her as a weed instead of seeing the same beauty in her that I did.

“Well, since I’m already here…”

Despite its name, the deadnettle wouldn’t have any sort of effect on the chicken of the woods already in my bag, so I moseyed right over to that and started picking. It wasn’t a big cluster, so it only took me a few minutes, but as I stood, I saw yetanotherpatch just a bit deeper into the woods.

I felt a bit like Hansel and Gretel, being lured farther off the beaten path with a piece of candy, but hopefully, there wouldn’t be a witch’s hut waiting for me. I liked to think I had enough wherewithal to recognize the danger inthat.

When I was done harvesting the next batch and wrapping some spare twine I had around it, I noticed a verydifferentcolor spattered between two pines just a bit ahead.

“Is that blood?” I whispered, my stomach flipping several times. While I didn’t like to think myself a coward, I was practical, and it didn’t exactly take genius survival instincts to know that going in theopposite directionof the danger was probably a good idea.

Although, what if somebody needed help? It wasn’t entirely unheard of for someone to get hurt in the woods and need assistance, and no one would have committed a crime this close to the road. Right?

“Hello?” I called cautiously, pulling my phone out just in case. I liked to think I could handle myself in a lot of situations, but there was no need to be cocky. I also unlocked it, and made sure I dialed the 9 and the 1. Maybe that was a bit paranoid, but I preferred to think of it as prepared.

After all, while I was only half-white, I was definitely doing the thing in horror movies where Caucasian women inexplicably went towardthe danger instead of away from it. But I couldn’t, with a clean conscience, leave someone if they were alone and hurt.

“Is someone here? I can help! Make a sound to let me know where you are!”

I paused, waiting to see if anyone responded. It certainly would have made me feel better if they did, because all sorts of thoughts about possibly finding a body or even partsof a body floated through my head. It was alotblood.

---