“It is locked,” the man on the bench said in a slightly familiar accent. “It was open yesterday, though.”
“Thanks,” I replied, taking a few steps back before turning around. The trip wasn’t a complete waste, because I still had to replace the coffee Roscoe used up. I started back the way I’d come when I heard the man behind me stand.
“The next time I tell you to meet at a certain time, I expect you to show up.”
I froze. A warm breath pulsed against the back of my neck, and with it came the scent of strong tobacco and rich, spicy cologne. The man had somehow appeared only a few inches away from me. When I turned, a quick flash of silver in his irises betrayed who he was.
“Mayor?”
He grinned and took a few quick puffs of his cigar, blowing the smoke away from us. “Have a seat.” The man gave me a stern look. “I have important matters to discuss with you, Mr. Schultz.”
Chapter 14
Mysterious Motives
The mayor sat uncomfortably close, enjoying his cigar without a word for what seemed like minutes. The situation was so awkward that I wanted to stand and run, but I kind of knew what he was doing. It was the same thing he’d done the other day. His furrowed bushy eyebrows and glacial scowl had everyone cowering. His human form was no less intimidating, just smaller.
I began drumming a nervous rhythm onto my lap, and a cigar appeared in front of my face.
“Put this in your mouth.”
“Usually, I get to know a guy a little better first,” I said with a short-lived burst of anxious laughter, which was met with a silent, stony glare. I stopped smiling and cleared my throat. “I don’t smoke.”
“These are not cigarettes.” He leaned in closer, his mouth inches from my ear. “Put it in your mouth, draw in the smoke, but don’t inhale.”
His powerful werewolf musk pulled at my nostrils, hidden just beneath the fabric of his suit, mixing with the rich tobacco and expensive cologne. It was hard to breathe him in without the accompanying half-turn arousal. The low growl in his voice didn’t make things easier.
As his hand made its way to the back of my neck, I reluctantly took the cigar and placed the moistened end between my lips before slowly sucking in the smoke. Following his instructions, I didn’t inhale, but I also hated the taste—at first. What followed after was a clean, peppery, almost chocolaty flavor.
“Oh,” I said, taking in another draw and then blowing the smoke away. The mayor gently massaged the back of my neck with his thumb as I handed back the cigar. Even though it was a friendly gesture, I couldn’t help but feel as though one wrong move could mean having the life choked out of me. “That’s pretty good.”
He examined the cigar for a moment. “We didn’t have these in the old country. Our kind was regarded as the offspring of Iblis, and our condition was Allah’s punishment for the sins our families committed. Whether there was merit to the myth or not, werewolves had to learn to live together or die alone in the howling sands.” He took a drag, held it in his mouth for a few moments before blowing the smoke away from me. “The taste sometimes reawakens memories I thought I’d forgotten. I can remember the circles around the fire, the stories. We would sing—and even satisfy our uncontrollable carnal desires. We understood we were different from humans, but many of us would feel shame nevertheless. Despite the harsh reality of living the way we did, the pack was strong, and that was how we survived.”
He carefully snuffed out the end of the cigar against the metal frame of the bench, exposing a smooth, silver band on his ring finger.
“A long life is a blessing, but it is not without its challenges. We are still mortal, and so too are our brains. There is only so much we can remember before memories fade and important lessons are forgotten. When we were in the desert, it was difficult to hold on to ourselves and not become the beasts the humans believed we were. Without leadership and order, our pack fell into disarray, losing its humanity altogether. Eventually we split into two sects: the Whasha and the Midna. This marked the end of civility and unity among our kind.”
His eyes pierced me in silence for a moment as if waiting for me to respond.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Werewolves living in society are Midna.” He pointed away from the buildings, toward the imposing forest in the distance. “In the wilds, we become animals. If we go there, we lose all of who we are, and we fall prey to the malevolence always hidden from sight. We forget things we should not, like your friend did. Roscoe, was it?”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“I cannot have unruly and undisciplined werewolves roving about the town. Such behavior makes us susceptible to the Whasha and the witches.” He pulled something out of his pocket before placing it into my palm. It was a heavy antique flip lighter made of solid gold. “Your kuu mate reeks of the Whasha.”
“What’s this?” I asked, flipping the lid of the lighter, which had no fuel in it.
“A gift,” he said softly before a growl returned. “It is also a warning.”
I looked up at him, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“I have eyes and ears everywhere. You have a half-wit Whasha with no sense of decency, and a half-turn brat that has not learned to keep his emotions in check.” He bared his sharper human teeth at me and growled. “And that…half-turn…Bernie Blödmann, is maladjusted and mentally unstable, but it is you I am most concerned about.”
“Excuse me? I’m the most responsible person in that house!”
“Responsibility has nothing to do with it.” His eyes glowed silver for a moment, and the sunlight turned almost unbearably bright, everything flashing before settling back into a normal hue. “You possess potent vironoct, and half-turns like you are exceedingly rare. There are rituals in place to detect and find those suspected of having it before it awakens. We found you first. Did you think your assignment to Norwich was mere happenstance?”
