Page 2 of The Lone Wolf Café
I needed more clothing. Shelter. Water. Food. For a human, my task would seem impossible. How could one simply barge into a society they had little knowledge of and expect to survive?
But I wasn’t human.
At least…I gazed down at my fingernails. I preferred to keep them long and sharp, perfect for utilitarian use. Almost like claws.
…not entirely.
I knew that was the main reason we werewolves couldn’t leave Hollenboro. But I’d never had trouble controlling my shifts, and the full moon was only once every few weeks. Keeping my true nature a secret – and not biting any humans in the process – wouldn’t be a problem.
The ship sailed closer to the docks, close enough that I could pick out details of the little shops and other buildings lining the sidewalks. I could see the people.Humans.
Yes,I reassured myself as I closed my hand into a fist and shoved it into my dress pocket. Thefreedom-is-terrifyingthoughts returned, but I refused to let them win.
My secret won’t be a problem.
Back when I was visiting the human-populated islands, I’d had small glimpses into their society. There were only a few dozen people inhabiting each island, and amenities and luxuries were scarce. In many ways, they lived much like we did on Hollenboro.
But the mainland?
It was unlike anything I had seen. Or could have ever imagined.
Dumbfounded, I stood in the middle of the seaside town where the ferry dropped us off – Bar Harbor, according to a worn wooden sign near the dock – having no idea what to do next. There was so much ofeverythingit was hard to take it all in. The roads were much wider than the ones on the human-populated islands, and the edges were lined with rows of empty cars.
Cars.I’d seen the beastly transportation devices only a few times; mainly weather-worn trucks and sedans scattered around the human islands. Now there were dozens of them. Possiblyhundreds, judging by how dense the crowds were.
I followed the road up the pier, weaving through the herds of humans scurrying about. I had never seen so many at once. As they brushed past me – thankfully oblivious to my presence – I kept my head down with my hands deep in my dress pockets. Asbeautifully chaotic as this place was, I didn’t want to draw too much attention to myself. On the outside, I looked human, but I still felt like I stuck out amongst the townsfolk. A true wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Beyond the pier were buildings. Dozens crammed together in one long row, each painted a different color with quaint, cottage-like architecture.Cape Cod-style, my father called it. Every building was unique, yet all had similar features, from their colorful clapboard siding to the little attic windows hunkered under sharply peaked roofs. Many had wraparound porches, heavily adorned with chunky orange pumpkins, maple-leaf wreaths, and old-fashioned, spindly brooms that delightfully smelled of cinnamon.
The festive fall décor was enticing. Halloween was in a few weeks, and based on the number of snarling faces carved into pumpkins and paper ghosts billowing from porch ceilings, I assumed humans celebrated the holiday like we werewolves did.
Each building housed a different business: from restaurants and cafés – whose enticing smells nearly dragged me through the front door – to enchanting little trinket shops with some of the most beautiful treasures I’d ever seen. I strolled from storefront to storefront, lingering by the display windows in an awestruck state that definitely made me stand out from the humans. I couldn’t help myself – we didn’t have such intricate items on our simple little island.
One store was full of wood carvings, from chairs and tables to little dioramas and even children’s toys. But the carved animals were my favorite. They were all native to Maine: bears, squirrels, foxes, raccoons, and moose. Lots of moose.
The interior smelled of freshly cut wood; a sharp, sour, yet pleasant scent that nearly made me dizzy with nostalgia. I prayed I’d find pine forests on the mainland that were as beautiful as the ones on Hollenboro.
Another shop was full of glistening silver jewelry, each necklace and bracelet containing a frosty-looking blue stone that reminded me of the ocean on calm days. The shop owner kindly explained the stones were seaglass – pieces of broken glass that had been smoothed and weathered by the ocean over time. I held up a tiny piece attached to a bracelet, rubbing its semi-opaque surface with my thumb.
They were magnificent, and I desperately wanted one. As if wearing something created by the ocean was the same as owning a piece of it.
My eyes darted back to the owner – a kind older woman with short, puffy blonde hair. She smiled, and I could sense her warm, friendly demeanor. I bit my lip with contemplation.
I can buy it, right? These items are for sale. I’ve seen other humans buy items at stores, although I have no idea how the bartering process works in their world…
“Um, I’d like to purchase this, please,” I declared in a near-whisper as I gingerly placed the bracelet on the counter. Navigating this unfamiliar task made me feel so small and meek, like a young child asking the grown-ups for a favor.
“Alright, sweetheart.” The woman smiled. She tapped a few buttons on a device and adjusted a thin pair of glasses on a beaded chain around her neck. “That will come out to $78.19.”
Seventy… eight… nineteen? Seventy-eight nineteen what?
I certainly don’t have that many scones…
Reaching into my satchel, I dug around until I felt a brush of thin linen fabric. I pulled out a small tan drawstring bag and unraveled the twine keeping it closed. Inside were six blueberry scones that I made fresh that morning. Before I got the news that forced me to leave Hollenboro.
I had no idea how much a scone was worth, but there was only one way to find out.
I pulled one out, taking a moment to admire how light and flaky it was; molded into a perfect triangle with a fluffy center and crisp edges. The blueberries dotting the scone were dark and syrupy, and it looked so delicious I was tempted to forgo this transaction and scarf down the pastry on a bench outside.
