Page 50 of The Alpha Dire Wolf
After waiting hours for his return, I’d had no choice but to go back to sleep. The prickly sensation of danger had faded not long after he’d disappeared into the forest, but the rest I’d gotten had been only fitful. I feared for Lincoln, though my gut told me he was okay.
When I dreamed, I had dreamed of the wolf again. Of being chased through the darkness. It was always right behind me. Even awake, I could hear the heavy panting, and the occasional hunting growl, letting me know it was still there. That I wasn’t escaping.
And when I turned to try to face it, I was greeted with mismatched eyes that sucked me in until I was no longer looking at a wolf. I was looking at Lincoln.
Lincoln, and his mismatching eyes. It was a coincidence that he and the mysterious wolf shared the same heterochromatic aberration, but it was ahellof a coincidence. That was for sure.
“Lots of odd coincidences in this town, it feels like,” I said to nobody in particular as I downed a cup of coffee and refilled a travel mug to bring along. Something told me that today was going to be that type of day.
Finding my destination turned out to be far easier than I thought. I was prepared to search through back lots, upper floor offices or perhaps a poorly marked ground floor of someone’s house to find it.
Instead, the New Lockwood Historical Society building all but reached out and slapped me across the face. Occupying one square block of the main corridor through town, the two-story building was built from dark stone, featuring small, heavily recessed windows and a roof that appeared to mimic the crenellations of an older medieval castle. An arched doorway with a gaily colored sign proclaimed the building’s purpose.
It was quite the building for a historical society of any size, let alone such a small country town. I had to wonder what they needed so much space for? I assumed the building itself was repurposed from its original function, whatever that was. But why were there no other tenants?
Odd.
Stepping inside the door, I found myself in a long hallway with a mirroring arch to that of the door, all made from that same dark-colored stone. Large statues lined the walls, giving the impression of walking through an honor guard. Behind each statue was a painting and a printed sign describing who they were and their interactions with the town. At the base of each statue were a pair of soft off-white spotlights, providing the only lighting down the corridor itself.
Early mayors, lawmen, businessmen and people who had made a large impact on New Lockwood were all represented.
A heavy swinging door marked the end of the hallway. I grasped the handle and pulled. The door barely budged.
Frowning, I set my feet and pulled harder. Slowly, with much resistance, the door swung open, moving smoothly on its hinges, despite turning out to be more than six inches thick.
“That seems like overkill,” I muttered, stepping into a brightly lit foyer.
Straight ahead was a large square desk. Along the perimeter of the room were display cases containing various important pieces of New Lockwood history. The largest held what could very well be the founding charter by the looks of it.
On the desk itself was a little hand bell and a sign saying to ring for assistance, if necessary. Otherwise feel free to look around. Not knowing where to look, I tapped the bell and waited.
And waited.
Bored, I walked around the main lobby, looking at the various items in the cases. None of it caught my interest. I saw a portion of stone from the “first road” and also the knocker from the first town hall. Nothing that would help me figure out what was going on.
My phone buzzed in my purse, providing a welcome distraction. I pulled it out, wondering if it was Charlene. We’d been trying to reschedule our lunch plans after the animal 5k race threw everything into disarray.
It was Caidyn.
Caidyn: My girlfriend needs to respond when I message her. This childish ignoring me crap needs to stop. Now.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I hissed, furious.
Sylvie: Ex-girlfriend. And I don’t need to do anything you say. When I get back home, I’ll pack up your things and ship them to you. I promise. You can believe me. I’m not the one who lies. Now leave me alone!
Caidyn: Back home? Where did you go?
I groaned loudly enough for it to echo off the walls. Why did I have to say that? Now I had to worry about him going to my apartment while I wasn’t there and trashing it or stealing my stuff to say it was his.
Shoving my phone back into my purse, I made a vow to myself then and there that I wouldnottext him back. Again.
In need of a distraction, I wandered into an open room adjacent to the lobby. In it were blueprints and diagrams along with a miniature diorama of the historical society building itself. Only it wasn’t being used as a makeshift museum. As it turned out, the NLHS occupied the building that had once been the original fort for the area.
That explained much about the odd construction, though not the stone. Most forts would have been made from wood for a town this small. So why the stone?
I didn’t have time to wonder, because footsteps finally sounded from the main lobby.
Upon seeing me emerge from the side chamber, Desmond Crane’s face turned from cool neutrality to unbridled joy behind his thick beard. “Miss Wilson!” he cried, practically bouncing across the tiled floor, his shoes clicking with every step. “It’s so good to see you again.”
