Page 17 of Bewitched By the Werewolf
“No. They’re just a bonus. I came to see the blood moon. I hear you get a great view of it from here.”
When he doesn’t even flinch at my answer, I take it he already knew as much. Must have been asking around about me. But why? I’ve been here two days and haven’t done a single thing yet. It usually takes longer before townspeople start to turn on me. And here I was thinking they were warming up to me.
“Not any different than anywhere else,” he says cooly. I can’t tell if he’s trying to be sarcastic or serious.
“That’s technically not true. Certain areas, depending on their geography and position in relation to the moon and sun, don’t always get to see eclipses. There are always locations better suited for viewing certain astrological events. Montana just happens to be a great place to witness the blood moon.”
He just grunts. It’s not an argument but it’s also not words. Does he expect me to reply to that? Should I grunt back? Why not? I don’t grunt but I do make a noncommittalhumphnoise. It doesn’t illicit a verbal response. Instead, he crosses his thick arms over his chest. I do the same, though I doubt it’s as intimidating, but I don’t let his size scare me. I’m a werewolf hunter for fucks sake. If they don’t scare me neither with thisman.
“I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name officer…?”
“SheriffEvans.”
“Sheriff Evans. Is that a first or last name?”
He just glares at me. Okay, guess we’re not going to be on a first name basis. Whatever.
“Okay thenSheriff Evans, is there anything I can help you with? Any particular reason you care about my bird watching?” I step around him and start making my way back to my trailer. I don’t need him standing here long enough to spot my camera in the tree. The sheriff follows me, thankfully turning away from the tree with my camera and following me back towards the campgrounds.
“I was actually looking for you. Went to your trailer but when I got no answer I followed your tracks into the woods.”
“That seems like a lot of work to find little ole me. What’s so important you needed to find me?” I ask. Playing dumb is always the right move.
“Snowberry is a small town and when new people appear out of the blue, I like to check in with them. Make sure they’re not going to do anything stupid while in my town.”
Histown? Cocky much?
“Well I’m just here on vacation. Nothing exciting.”
I continue tromping through the woods making a spectacle of my passage. I was careful when entering to keep my tracks to a minimum, which didn’t seem to stop him from tracking me. But if I can make myself appear like any other unassuming person, maybe he won’t know I was purposefully careful before and chalk it up to coincidence or luck.
“That may be, but I still wanted to introduce myself and speak with you personally,” he says.
“Wow, don’t I feel special.” I may sound a little too sarcastic, but I can’t help it. Something about Sheriff Evans makes me want to sass him and see how far I can push him before he pops.
Even beyond the loud crunching of my footsteps, I expect to hear his following behind me—I know he is, I can practically feel him there—but I don’t. His footsteps are nearly silent, which is impressive for such a large man. I peek over my shoulder just to make sure he really is still there, and yup, he’s there alright. Even closer than I expected. And was he…sniffing me? Could he be a werewolf? Canines do like to sniff others, which is why I use a scent and odor neutralizer to cover my natural scent. Hunters use it all the time and I found it practically makes me invisible to animals. This way not only can the werewolves not smell me, but neither can local critters who might announce my presence if startled.
“Not special, just routine. Where is it you’re coming from?” he continues, as if I didn’t just catch him sniffing me.
I turn back to face forward and keep walking, I slow and sidestep so that he’s next to me rather than behind me. Never let a predator at your back. There’s a knife sheathed in my boot and one in the back waistband of my jeans hidden by my jacket if I need to strike. But if he is a werewolf, he can easily overpower me and if he isn’t…well he has a gun, so there’s that.
Normally I would shrug off his question with a noncommittal answer or something obtuse, however I have already allowed a connection to be made to this Sam from Texas. Should I say Texas? I never told Dottie or Donna that I was from Texas or knew Sam from Texas. They made that assumption on their own. If he’s any good at his job—which, I get the inclination he is—then he already knows all that. So, one way or another, I’ll have to make the connection. Problem is I don’t know what city in Texas Sam the lawyer is from. I’m going to go with out-of-town friend.
“Philadelphia,” I finally answer. It’s not actually a lie. I am originally from Phili and that’s where my driver’s license is from. Gotta keep some truths in the lies to make them seem real.
“You’re far from home.”
“Yeah, needed to get away.”Biggest understatement ever.
“And you just decided to drive all the way across the country to our little town in Montana?”
“Yup.”
“Hmm.”
Well, isn’t he just the conversationalist of the century? We finally break through the tree line and arrive at my trailer. I stop in front of the door and pivot to face him. There’s no way in hell he’s going in my trailer without a warrant.
“Would you mind showing me your ID?” he asks, not completely unexpected.
