And then he spun and took off. His dark shadow shimmered into the undergrowth, and he vanished. My heart rebooted and thudded loudly in my chest. I dragged in a deep, relieved breath and climbed to my feet, my legs shaking and rigid as I stared after him with a perplexed, trembling awe.
Chapter 9
Albert & Wendy Miller
Albert Miller sat on his porch with his wife of forty years, Wendy. He reached his bony, tanned hand into the front pocket of his check shirt and pulled out a tobacco pouch. He held the thin white paper in one hand and scooped up the brown leaves in the other, sitting them neatly in the middle of the paper. He rolled it back and forth until he was satisfiedit was the long, cylinder shape he required. Albert licked and sealed the edges, brought it to his mouth, struck a match, and lit the end. Sucking back the tobacco and blowing the smoke out in a long, thin cloud watching as it floated away. The nicotine washed through his veins, relaxing his shoulders, back, and neck.
It was a bad habit, but despite Wendy’s protests, he couldn’t give it up. Besides, he knew it wasn’t smoking that’d be the cause of his death. The spirit gods had not told him how it would end, but he knew deep in his bones it wouldn’t be from something ordinary.
Albert had watched the girl from the shadows of the forest for a few days now—saw the torment on her face, the deep sadness in her eyes. Wendy had wanted to ask her down immediately. She was always wanting to take care of people, his Wendy. Shewas a good, kind woman. But he’d said no, to leave her be. He would know when the time was right.
He glanced at Wendy as she sipped a cup of tea. Her long hair was still black, despite the years. Her tanned skin no longer pulled tight; it hung a little saggy around the jowls, and a few lines crisscrossed her forehead. To him, she was still beautiful. She caught him looking and smiled. The sides of her eyes crinkled. She had the type of smile that lit up her warm brown eyes and made her look years younger. He felt a soft pang in his heart.
A wolf howled in the distance, a long, haunting sound.
“It’s back,” Wendy said, her eyes traveling to the noise.
Albert nodded. “It won’t be long now.” He took another long drag on his smoke.
The wolf had howled every night since the girl had arrived. There hadn’t been wolves in these parts for years, but he knew the legends. They’d been carefully passed down from generation to generation, so when the time came, they’d be ready.
The reappearance of the black wolf meant black magic had returned to Church Heights.
He took a final deep drag on his smoke, butted it out in the old seashell ashtray, and went inside to call the only person who could help. The biggest damn son of a bitch he knew.
Chapter 10
The Hollow
Ispent the next four days sleeping, running, and forcing food down my throat.
The memories were a constant unwanted companion. The only time I found any reprieve was when I’d run myself to a point far beyond exhaustion.
The wolf had joined me on every run. I was no longer scared of him. I began to look forward to seeing him, his presence a comfort. He hung in the shadows of the trees. He’d stop when I’d stop. Move when I’d move. His size was perplexing, but perhaps he was crossed with a malamute or something. Maybe he was once someone’s pet, dumped in the forest when he became too much to handle.
Having decided it was time to apply for the job at the bar I’d seen advertised, I stood looking in the wardrobe at the pitiful amount of clothing I’d thrown hastily in my bag. Most were jeans and T-shirts, my usual attire. I pulled out a green paisley-print, long-sleeve dress and held it up in front of my face. It was pretty, but not suitable for bar work. I threw it on the bed. The only decent option I really had was a pair of black silk pants and a white blouse. I pulled them on and stared at my reflection in the mirror.
I’d lost weight, and the slacks hung off my hips. Dark circles lay under my eyes like tire tracks, giving testament to the nights spent tossing, turning, and dreaming. My skin was unusually pale, and my face was gaunt. I grabbed the makeup bag, applying foundation, along with soft-brown eyeshadow, eyeliner, subtle blush, and a nude lip.
The makeup made my skin look a little healthier at least. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, then changed my mind and let it fall loose, allowing the waves to cascade over my shoulders. I hoped my hair would pull the attention from the sorry state of the rest of me.
“You got this,” I murmured to my reflection. My reflection nodded back unconvincingly.
It was mid-afternoon before I drove through the wide streets of town. Passing by the bookstore, I made a mental note to pop in there later. Clouds congregated in the sky, but the heat was stifling. A film of sweat formed on the back of my neck as I stepped out of the car. A few kids in school uniforms floated around, and two boys tussled with each other, laughter echoing from the group. A young, starry-eyed, loved-up couple walked past hand in hand. Sickening.
The bar was quite nice. It had an upper-class, homely feel. Timber slats reached halfway up the walls, while above them was painted cream. Antique gold pendant lighting protruded from each wall beneath the high ornate ceilings. A small sunken dance floor sat in the middle of the room, with a jukebox off to the side and a couple of pool tables. Wooden tables were dotted around the outside of the dance floor, and a few male patrons sat sipping their beers. I headed to the large wooden bar, and out of the corner of my eye, a group of four men turn to stare.
I ignored them and walked toward the barmaid who stood in the middle, wiping glasses dry with a clean white cloth. She was attractive, around fifty years old, I guessed. She was aslightly built lady, with shoulder-length brown hair, and hazel eyes. Craggy wrinkles trekked across her forehead like trenches. Above her lips, pinched lines ran vertically; she was, or had been, a smoker.
I’d never had to apply for a job before. I’d always just been offered them, and the prospect of applying for one was a little nerve-racking. I really wanted this job, but it wasn’t like I needed the money. My mom had had life insurance, and I had a large sum in the bank which could tide me over for a few years. I needed the distraction, and I enjoyed bar work. It wasn’t something I wanted to do forever, but I’d fallen into it after my mom died, and life was yet to present me with a better opportunity. At nineteen, I’d worked at the front of house, then at twenty-one I’d moved behind the bar.
Nerves buzzed in my stomach like a hive of bumblebees. I felt the same as I did standing outside the principal’s office at school, which had been a common occurrence for me. Fighting was the usual offense. I was always the new kid in school, the foster kid. I was the target of the bullies’ cruel tongues. I learned two things quickly. First, ninety-five percent of challengers would back down if I called their bluff. It was one big game of chicken. If I talked tough and held my ground, they lost the power they got from terrorizing me. Or I’d rattle their nerves, they’d doubt themselves, and most would walk away. Except of course when they didn’t. That was the second thing I learned: I had to be prepared to act.
My parents had enrolled me in self-defense classes to try and curb my temper, which, given the right circumstances, would go off like a firecracker. I’d learned discipline, and it also gave me the skills I required when I needed them.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for the manager.”
“What for?” she asked without looking up, placing one glass down and reaching for another.
