Chapter 17
The Slammer
Aquick search of the address led me to the county jail, which honestly shouldn’t have been a surprise, but I thought we were finally getting ahead. Austin was opening up, Adam was kind of being less annoying, and Roscoe was—well, I still had a lot of work to do on him, but I thought he’d at least not try to sabotage our one shot at living a halfway decent rural life.
What bothered me most was Austin’s new hobby. He wasn’t just making things—he was making illegal things. Illegal things in our house. In all the time I’d known him, he’d never once appeared drunk or under the influence, but he also kept to himself so much that I could have missed the signs. A secret still in the garage was one part of a larger problem.
Every time I opened the kitchen pantry, junk food fell out. Some was intentionally hidden in adjacent drawers or cabinets. Roscoe’s eating was beyond out of control and our grocery bills along with it. Aside from the drugs and dubious stories of his lineage, I didn’t really know much about his past. Being that he was likely over a hundred years old, there was a lot to uncover.
Then there was Adam. The half-turn often sat alone on the couch for hours while on his phone, playing gacha games while mindlessly scrolling through brain rot. As much as I wanted to point my fingers at all of them, I had my own issues to work through. My meticulous cleaning wasn’t just to keep everything in order—it had become almost compulsive. There were times I’d wake up in the middle of the night because I’d left a cup out of place earlier, only to spend nearly an hour rearranging things.
Then there was the daydreaming and losing time. That was something new, and it hadn’t really started until after I’d gone into those woods. Mosavi’s words were like angry crows, pecking at me every time I’d try to put two and two together. Were there really witches? Was I under some kind of Whasha spell? As much as I feared him, Mosavi was the only person who likely had the answers, but how would I even bring it up without getting into serious trouble? That was, if he didn’t already know.
“I just need to get through tonight,” I said to myself as I turned down North Avenue. Despite the jail, this side of town was quiet and pleasant. All the streetlights worked, the grass was freshly cut, the houses were older but well-maintained, and the few government buildings were dim and unassuming. Whatever I thought about him personally, the mayor knew how to keep the place in order. Humans, half-turns and werewolves living together in harmony was something no one had thought possible. Somehow, though, this worked.
I thought the gate Mosavi mentioned would be a high razor wire-topped chain link fence, but before me stood a ratherelegant black iron barrier. It was sleek and it automatically rolled to the side when I stepped forward, allowing just enough space for me to walk through. There wasn’t a sound except for the whir of rotating security cameras overhead, each of their red dots trained on me like sniper sights. Blinding fluorescent light poured out of the barred glass door ahead, and as I reached for the handle, I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Two brawny werewolves in forest green sheriff’s deputy uniforms stood behind the desk, both half-grinning, their sharp stares making my standing neck hairs prick at my skin.
“Here to pick up your werewolves?” the black one said, handing me a sheet of paper with a bail amount typed in bold at the bottom.
“Fifteen hundred? What the hell did they do, beat up an old lady?”
“They’re in some serious trouble,” the lighter furred one replied. He kind of reminded me of Austin, just a bit shorter. “They were caught drinking and making rude gestures while exposing themselves behind a dumpster near The Waffle Hut. Do you know how long it took for us to get rid of that stereotype?”
“I’m gonna kill him,” I muttered under my breath.
“We’d look the other way if you did,” the black one said with a snorted laugh. “Anyway, the mayor figured you wouldn’t be coming here with the bail money, so he’s waiting inside.” He pressed a button, and the door slid open.
I hesitated, my hands shaking as I made my way to the entrance of the now-exposed hallway of smooth, off-white cinderblock walls.
“Hey,” the blond werewolf called out. “He’s harsh but fair. If those two get life, you can tell your other half-turn roomie that we’d be happy to make the nights a little less lonely for both of you.”
I looked down at the ring on his finger and then back up at him.
“Hey, don’t get all judgy. It’s open. Half-turns are always welcome in the boudoir,” he continued with the flirty grin from earlier.
“Can’t speak for Adam, but I’m good, thanks.”
They waved me off as I stepped into the hallway. The door clanked shut behind me, echoing through thick silence. I walked until the walkway turned right and the jail cells appeared. After passing by three that were empty, I finally got to the culprits, who were lying on the floor against one another, snoring and reeking of booze.
“First strike.”
I jumped, clutching my chest at the deep, angry voice from behind. The mayor was in his werewolf form lighting a cigar while sitting on the bench in an open cellblock with one leg crossed over his knee. “It is a big one, too,” he added.
“I’m so sorry. I had a very long day, and I just wanted to go out and enjoy myself.”
His irises glowed silver as he took a few puffs of tobacco.
“You honestly can’t expect me to babysit full grown adult werewolves twenty-four seven,” I continued.
“Did you drink tonight?” he asked, his tone less threatening than before.
“Y—yes, but I didn’t break the law.”
He unlatched his briefcase and pulled out two crystal-cut glasses and a fancy bottle of what looked like whiskey.
“Have another drink with me.”
