Page 5 of The Witch's Werewolf
Back in New York, I take this time to turn inward. I revel in the sights of autumn, the incredible changing colors of the trees in Central Park.
This year, after months of not getting to know anyone my age in my new town, I decided to throw caution to the wind. I’m ready to meet people and change things up.
I should have heeded my sixth sense. Instead, I whipped up a hasty protection spell. I took the trouble to do all that, and waste some precious dried rare herbs—which I now carry in a sachet in my purse—rather than just stay home.
I also had the option of staying at work, trying to muster up a conversation with our best customer, Timber Hawkins. Now there’s a guy who knows something about white magic. It’sevident by how he goes through white candles. He’s in and out of the shop so quickly, sometimes without a word.
My boss often muses after he leaves, “Why does one single man need so many white candles?”
“Maybe he’s really into protection spells,” I always say.
Timber’s cute and all. Tall and sturdy, with a dark beard and chocolate brown eyes. Jeans, flannel shirts, hiking boots. The outdoorsy type, and exactly my vibe. But it feels wrong to flirt with a customer. It’s exceptionally wrong to look up his personal information in our customer database to learn more about him. If he were to try to chat me up, though, I’d have to engage. That’s just good customer service.
Still, I promised myself I would try to meet some other single people, and the easiest way to do that is through dating apps.
I knew who Toby Cook was as soon as we’d matched. I thought it was neat that someone so influential in my new town would match with me instead of swiping left.
But that turned out to be a disaster.
And then Toby wound up dead. I think.
If I’d known what a creep he was, I never would have gone out with him.
I don’t wish him dead. At worst, my sincere hope for Toby is a hard kick in the nuts, and some deep self-reflection with the guidance of a trained professional. Perhaps a year or two of hard time in prison for near-sexual assault. But not death.
And here I am, about to die by the same teeth that brought down poor, useless Toby.
I look up into the face of my latest assailant. A freaking wild animal, of all things.
The beast’s enormous face is savage, wolf-like, his bared teeth brandishing long, deadly fangs, the snarl creating deep furrows along the canine snout and between the monstrous features.
What on earth is this rabid dog going to do with me?
It growls, it snorts, it drools all over me.
This is a sick and twisted joke, if this is how I die.
The beast seems to be toying with me, trying to decide exactly how he prefers to kill me.
The only thing I can do now is fight back.
But the animal has me locked under him. My arms are pinned to the ground above my head.
My full-on panic after seeing the monster tear into Toby made me miss a few things that I notice now that we’re up close. This creature wears a sweater and jeans, both torn to shreds.As if he went full Incredible Hulk mode and ripped through his seams. But instead of turning green, the guy went another direction.
I don’t dare think about it. Because it’s not real.
The eyes make the word come into sharper focus.
But no. My mind rejects the idea.
Because I’m a witch, I’m aware that Birchdale is home to all sorts of creatures. Vampires, demons, and other creatures that lurk and bite and do mischief and mayhem. But not this. Not…werewolves.
It’s just so…Monster of the Week.
But even more terrifying.
What is he waiting for?
