Page 27 of Dirty December

I force my focus back to Minegold’s watch. I press the fob on the thick, brassy case, careful to keep it pointing at the floor.

Plink.

A thin wooden stake clatters to the cement. It was only a quarter of an inch wide, tipped in silver, and reinforced with an iron core. Itshouldhave shot out with the force of asmall, lightweight missile. “Ahh. The spring action is gone,” I mutter, retrieving the stake from where it had landed between my hooves. It was supposed to spring out with a pretty hefty punch so that its razor-sharp tip and inner core (fully encased in wood) would penetrate deep enough to take out a vampire or a werewolf at close range.

Of course, I’m not advocating the killing ofallvampires and werewolves. The established supernatural community of Pine Ridge is mostly peaceful and dedicated to keeping evil-doers out of our fair little city.

Mr. Minegold, who has been here since the end of World War II, organized a neighborhood patrol long, long ago to drive out or exterminate undesirables. My grandfather came over around the same time as Minegold. But since minotaurs in rural New York have a little trouble blending in, my family has always hung out in the shadows, worked nights, and made friends with other night-dwelling creatures, like Mr. Minegold. He can get around okay in the daytime as long as it’s cloudy, but he prefers the night and stays inside during the day whenever he can.

Minotaurs protect. We guarded King Minos’ wife and children against his insane rage by taking them into the labyrinth and pledging we would die before they were harmed. Greek history can say what it wants, but minotaurs have always been friends to the weakest among us. In the modern age, that usually means we make the firepower to hunt therealmonsters.

I slip my headphones (the wireless kind so they don’t get tangled around my horns) over my head and cue up Metallica on my phone. “Hey! Mr. Minegold?” I shout down the row of market stalls.

“Yes, Milo?” He turns at once. Vampires have amazing hearing.

“You need a new spring! Twenty bucks and twenty minutes?”

Mr. Minegold beams and waves back, earning smiles and curious looks from the people pushing past him. “You are a godsend! See you in twenty minutes!” He jiggles J.J. on his hip, unearthing a blue knitted cap with a fluffy white pom pom and ear flaps. “Ah! J.J.! There’s your hat! Did you have it stuffed in my pocket this whole time? You clever little dumpling!”

My God. Kids are adorable...

I turn up the volume.

Chapter Two: Libby

Have you ever had coffee so good you want to take it back to bed with you? Maybe whisper in its ear and coo a few sweet nothings?

Why, yes. I am single, thank you.

But, that perfectly describes the cinnamon streusel coffee from The Pine Loft Coffee Shop. It was delicious and decadent, sweet and full of warm spices. And cheap. Criminally cheap.

Everything in my new town is ultra affordable. My godmother says that I should consider it a red flag.

“There’s nothing cheap about New York, Libby!” Aunt Karen had lectured a few months ago, her thin arms crossed over her bony chest, staring at me with her wild, not-all-there eyes before turning back to her blaring television.

My godmother is a lot like a feral cat, whereas me, I’m a stray. She didn’t want to take me in, and I didn’t want to stay with her. When she and my mother were best friends back in high school, “Aunt Karen” became my godmother. Then my mom went to work at a daycare where I could come for free, and Aunt Karen moved in with a way-older guy, discovered daytime television, and developed a taste for flavored vodkas. By the time my mom passed away when I was eighteen, Aunt Karen was all alone. Rich, lecherous “Uncle Amir” had been done in by a spectacular cardiac arrest in a strip joint while choking on a cigar and trying to get change from a five out of a neon bikini.

I didn’t want to live with Aunt Karen, even sans the not-so-dearly-departed Uncle Amir, so I was a stray. On my own,surviving on scraps of part-time jobs, and a few months of my mother’s Social Security benefits before they cut me off.

I went to a cheap college and lived on campus. Antonia College isn’t the jewel of the state education system, so they offer perks for coming back each semester, and bonuses when you take summer classes. I had no complaints. I think Antonia is kind of feral, too. It’s in the Endless Mountains of Pennsylvania. It likes to hide from prying eyes, but if you show it a little love, it’s decent.

When I graduated with an animal science degree, I found a job as a vet tech. I found a cheap apartment in a cheap town.

Aunt Karen had lectured more when I made my dutiful pilgrimage to see her after graduation. She blew cigarette smoke at her enormous flat screen, obscuring the evil face of a pseudo-psychologist who embarrassed people on television for money. “It’s a scam. You’ll see.”

“It’s not a scam. I know people from Pine Ridge. We were buddies in college.”

That was a stretch, but Aunt Karen didn’t need to know that. When I was a freshman, there was a gorgeous, adorable melanin-challenged couple, Sophie-Something and Jesse-Something Else. They were seniors, and already engaged. Because of the dismal size of Antonia’s enrollment, seniors and freshmen were often in the same electives. We ended up in Literature of Ancient Civilization together, sitting in the back row during evening classes. (I worked afternoons at a little taco joint in town.) When we were forced to introduce ourselves during one of the weekly “Pair-and-Share” events the professor had coordinated to discuss Aeschylus and Enheduanna, I told them I was from Allentown, Pennsylvania. It turned out Sophie was from Philadelphia, making us practically neighbors. Jesse was from Pine Ridge, New York, right over the state line.

Sophie and Jesse made his town sound like a dream come true—friendly, little, full of beautiful people and places. They never mentioned how affordable it was, but when you’re bored in class and you start looking up random crap on your phone... Well, I couldn’t believe my screen.

Sophie and Jesse were planning to get their own place after graduation. They showed me some of the houses they were looking at one night when the antiquated overhead projector overheated and the professor insisted we all sit and wait patiently for it to cool off enough to come back to life.

That’s right. I said two college seniors were buying ahouse. At first I figured one of them must’ve had money, but then a little more talking and a little more squinting at the phone revealed that Pine Ridge real estate seemed to be quite a bargain.

And if they could afford a mortgage, maybe I could afford to rent a room. Or even a whole apartment with a kitchen?

My other option was moving in with Aunt Karen, who had started telling me that I should try to find a “sugar daddy.” Uncle Amir 2.0, or a town that sounded too good to be true? I was going to gamble on something that at least sounded like it wouldn’t induce vomiting.

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