Page 78 of The Alpha Dire Wolf
“Good thing nothing happened today,” I said to the empty room, fighting down a fresh wave of embarrassment at being ghosted.
This could all be solved if you just got in the car and went back to the city. Leave it all behind. You don’t need any of it, Vee.
Vee. That was the term Lincoln had used for me. Everyone else called me Vi. Not him. And here I was using it to talk to myself. Perfect.
That didn’t mean I was wrong. Itwouldbe easier to leave. To forget the mystery of the note from my grandmother, Lincoln, the weird happenings around New Lockwood. All of it. Just forget it and put it in my past. It could be done. Just do as the rock-note said, and leave. I could sell the house and its contents remotely. It would be easy.
But I could never do it. Not this house. It was our family’shome. My grandmother wasn’t the first generation to live in it. Would she be the last? I hadn’t decided yet.
“I know you did this on purpose,” I growled at the journal, lifting it up and turning it over and over again in my hands. “You also knew I was no good at riddles. Terrible. I hate them, Grandma. Why did that have to go and be your parting gift?”
Which was just another sign that my grandmother knewexactlywhat she was doing with all this.
Flipping open the journal to the bookmarked page, I stared at the last entry I had read through. It was perhaps a third of the way through the book. Most of it was inane, day-to-day activities and events. Lots of mentions of the forest, but nothing ground-breaking. No answers.
I flipped a page idly. Then another. And another. Forging ahead, I found the very last page. The last entry. The one I had been avoiding, because it was the last thing she had ever written. By reading it … I would reach the end of her life. And that scared me.
“You can do this,” I whispered to myself and looked down at the page, dated the day she died.
Inhaling sharply I looked away. The book trembled ever so slightly in my grip. I set it down against my knees, looking to the ceiling and taking in a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. It took twice more before I was ready to glance back down again.
My Dearest Vi-vi,
“Well, crap.”
Cue the waterworks. I stared out the window as I cried. The forest stared back, including the lone oak close to the house. A soft breeze stirred the tire swing ever so gently, swaying it from side to side. I marveled at the fact that it was even still there. A decade and a half since it had last been used, but my grandmother had never gotten rid of it. Perhaps she liked to stare at it as much as the forest. A reminder of a better time.
Always with the damn forest. What is so special about it?
“Okay, Grandma,” I said to the empty air of her favorite sitting room, confident the journal entry would havesomethingfor me. Some sort of answer. It had to.
My Dearest Vi-vi,
By now I assume you’ve realized that something is different about the forest outside the window. I also assume you’re in my sitting room on the daybed, looking out at it, trying to understand. It’s probably days later too, if I know my favorite granddaughter well enough, because you couldn’tbring yourself to skip ahead and read this last entry until you were ready.
I love that about you. Actually, I just love you, granddaughter. My only grandchild. You should know that. I’m certain I’ve told you it before, but this will probably be the last time. No. Don’t cry again. That’s just a waste of time. And time is something you are in shorter supply of than you know.
“Why the hell would I be in short supply of time?” I frowned at the page. Was I dying and didn’t know it?
I wish it wasn’t the case, but then, my dear, I wish many things. Back to the day your father and mother decided to leave New Lockwood. You know I never had any daughters of my own, and you were the first and only grandchild. Thus, the burden falls to you. I’m sorry to spring it on you like this. I learned it from my mother over time as I grew. She from her mother. And so on through the generations. You don’t get that luxury.
Don’t blame your mother either. She was a lovely lady, who made your father very happy. But my blood doesn’t flow through her. It flows throughyou. So you are the one I must tell. Unfortunately, I have limited time, and I know I could never bring you to believe by words. You are going to have to discover it with your own two eyes. Else you will never believe. And you must believe, Vi-vi. You must believe it fully and completely.
“Believe what?” I growled, growing angry at the allusions and riddles and cryptic speak.
If I told you, you would think I was crazy. That I had lost my mind, though I assure you I have not. But your intuition won’t agree. It will believe me. I know that because it’s something you get form me. It is but a part of what we can do. You must always trust it, Sylvie. It will never lead you astray, never placeyou in danger. Not if you heed that feeling in the back of your neck. The one like sharp nails clawing into your spine whenever danger gets close.
All of that is a part of who we are, and our ties to the forest. Our bond. A bondyoumust retie after I am gone, or everything will be lost.
I stared at the page with growing horror at what I was reading. And with the terrifying realization that she was right. I thought shewascrazy, but my gut was telling me she wasn’t.
To do that, you must find the guardian. They will be drawn to you—a partnership, a call impossible to ignore. Find the guardian, Vi-vi. That is your next step. Your first step in understanding who we are. Whoyouare. I wish I could do more for you, but my time is running short. So short. The end calls me.
I will resist as long as I can. The darkness will not get me, but when I am gone … it will be free. I love you, Vi-vi, you can do this. Youmustdo this.
—Grandma
I sat back against the daybed, the journal falling open to the cushion between my legs, while I stared blankly at the thick wooden bookcase, filled with mysteries on one side, and a more than modest collection of rather bodice-ripping romances on the other. I knew because I’d read a few as a child when I probably shouldn’t have.
