This was fine. Everything was fine. I just had a werewolf camping out in the woods behind my bookstore. Totally normal Monday.
The next day, he was still there.
I’d hoped maybe he’d gotten bored and gone back to his dimension or whatever. But when I opened the curtain Tuesday morning, there he was. Closer this time. At the edge of the tree line instead of deep in the woods.
Staring. Waiting. Being the world’s most persistent stalker.
“This is not going to work,” I told him through the glass. He couldn’t hear me. Didn’t matter. “I’m not changing my mind. Go home.”
His head tilted. Then he lay down again, settling in for what looked like a very long wait.
Fantastic. I had a werewolf with the patience of a saint and the subtlety of a freight train.
Wednesday, he was even closer. Right at the edge of my property line. People walking past on the street were starting to notice. I heard two women talking about “that huge dog” behind the bookstore. One pulled out her phone to take a picture.
I should’ve been terrified, maybe call someone. Animal control. The cops. A priest. Instead, I was annoyed. Annoyed that he was so stubborn, that he clearly had no sense of boundaries, that every time I looked at him, my heart did this stupid flutter thing that I absolutely hated.
Also annoyed that he looked kind of pathetic out there. A massive killing machine curled up in the dirt like an abandoned puppy.
I wasnotgoing soft. Irefused.
By Thursday, the rumors had started. I heard them from Mrs. Kerrington when she came in looking for a cookbook. “Did you hear about the beast? People say there’s a wolf haunting Woods & Pages. Saw it myself yesterday. Biggest dog I’ve ever seen. You should call animal control, dear.”
“It’s probably just a stray,” I said weakly. “I’m sure it’ll move on.”
Mrs. Kerrington looked doubtful. She bought her cookbook but left quickly, glancing nervously at the back windows.
My already terrible sales got worse. Who wanted to browse books when there was supposedly a dangerous animal lurking outside?
I was going to kill him. If I could figure out how to kill a werewolf. Did silver bullets actually work or was that just movies? Maybe I could just hit him with a hardcover encyclopedia. Those things were heavy.
Friday morning, I had actual customers. Four of them. At the same time. It was a miracle.
I was helping an older man find a mystery novel when I made the mistake of glancing out the window.
The wolf was right outside the back door. Curled up in a ball. Sleeping. His massive body rose and fell with each breath, and he looked for all the world like a very large, very deadly lap dog.
Of course. Because my life wasn’t weird enough already.
I shook my head. Unbelievable.
“Miss Woods?” The older man was waiting.
“Right. Sorry. The mystery section is this way.”
I’d just finished ringing him up when the bell above the door chimed. Another customer. A man in his thirties, wearing a suit that screamed finance bro. He had that look. The one that said he thought he was the smartest person in any room and everyone else was just background noise.
My favorite type of customer.Not.
“Can I help you find something?” I asked, putting on my customer service smile. The one that hurt my face.
“I need a book on corporate finance. Advanced tax strategies. You have that?”
I pulled up my inventory on the computer. We had exactly three finance books and none of them were what he wanted. “I don’t have that specific title, but I can order it for you. It would be here in about a week.”
His jaw tightened. “A week? I need it today.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have it in stock. The bookstore in Millbrook might-”
