TEDDY
Later, June 22
My migraine tablets are packed, along with the rest of my meager belongings, in the trunk of Miss Dragonfly’s old Cadillac parked out front. But before I can unload my luggage, I need to organize and clean my room. I don’t mind the mattress on the floor—I’ve slept in far worse—or the dusty dresser and ugly chair, but everything else has to go.
I rub my throbbing temples and decide to close my eyes. Perhaps a short nap will revive my spirits, although I don’t see how. I’m going to be suffering from headaches for the next three hundred and sixty-five days, courtesy of my new faerie boss. Sophie is a walking contradiction, a woman of such curvaceous loveliness and expressive eyes and luscious springtime scent that she brings a smile to my lips—until she pops her fists on her hips,opens her pouty mouth, and hollers something nonsensical at me.
Why bring up a hypothetical, prospective boyfriend she hasn’t even met yet? It’s ridiculous. But then so are her deplorable organizational skills and wayward magic. I knew as soon as I stepped into her shop that Sophie had magically blown up the missing wall. I can only hope Sophie bakes better than she cleans and casts spells.
I must have dozed off, because suddenly a warm sensation in my lap brings me back to full wakefulness. My eyes snap open as I take in the white furry mass sprawled across my legs. “No, no, no,” I growl. “Get down now. Off.”
Zosia opens one silver eye, lets out a little “Meep,” and snuggles in deeper.
“Zosia,” I say in my most commanding voice. “Down. Now.”
Zosia must realize I’m serious. She reluctantly hops down, but not before one of her tails bops me in the face. Disgusting! Where has that tail been?
I push myself out of the chair with a grunt; my head still hurts, but at least it’s not pounding. Time for me to get to work on this monstrous dump Sophie calls home. But first, I need to address Zosia, who is licking one of her front paws.
“I’m not a pet person.”
Zosia gives me an indignant glare and another, “Meep.”
“But you were here first, so I’m going to make an exception.”
Zosia turns around, raises all nine tails in the air, andshows me her derriere. Great, just wonderful. Honestly, I don’t think a werewolf can sink any lower.
I’ve just been mooned by a baby fox. And she knows I’m such a softie I’m not going to do anything about it. “Alright, now that we understand each other, I’m going to get to work. I don’t want to scare you, but I work much faster in my werewolf form.”
Zosia tilts her head to the side, all her tails flicking in the air behind her with a, “Wump,” which I think is her way of sayingwhatever.
Before I shift I need to undress; there’s no point in tearing my new khakis and button-down shirt. I’m a modest man, so I take a quick glance around to see whether Sophie bothered to close the ugly harvest gold draperies in the living room. Of course not; she’s as careless with her privacy as she is with her belongings.
I pull the cords on the tatty drapes, sneezing at the dust motes wafting upward. My hand comes away grimy after I’ve finished the task, so I wash up in the kitchen sink; I’ll be avoiding the eel-occupied bathroom unless absolutely necessary.
I prefer to wear a pair of loose-fitting sweats before shifting, but since they’re packed along with everything else, I need to strip down to my boxer shorts instead. I pull off my shoes and socks, and then peel off my shirt, slacks, and undershirt, neatly folding each article of clothing before placing the stack on the green chair.
Zosia has moved onto her other paw, which she licks lazily as she watches me through her silver eyes. “I’m going to shift now, but there’s no need to be frightened. Iretain full control over my reactions and faculties, so you’ll be entirely safe with me.”
Zosia yawns, obviously not concerned, forcing a chuckle from my lips. As I transform, I concentrate on each stage to ensure it’s smooth and measured. I abhor werewolf dramatics; all that howling and whining during a shift is entirely unnecessary if you’re disciplined about it.
Holding my hands in front of me, I watch as blond fur blooms along the backs and my fingernails sharpen into claws. A fraction of a second later, long incisors break through my gums, replacing my front teeth, and then my furry tail emerges, requiring a quick adjustment to my boxers before they rip. I allow a small grunt to escape my lips as my human facial features meld into my wolfish snout and brow.
Next my forearms and chest expand, followed by my thighs and calves, blond fur spreading rapidly over bulked-up muscles and bulging veins. Lastly, my feet curl slightly against the floorboards, my claws scraping the wood as they lengthen. I take a few shaky breaths, the only indication of the effort required to control my shift without a single yowl.
Zosia stops licking her paws and tips her chin at me as if acknowledging my changed state; not quite submissive but no longer dismissive either.
“Am. Clean-ning. No-oww,” I yip. To the untrained ear, wolf-speak sounds garbled and can be difficult to understand. I speak as little as possible in my werewolf form, preferring to communicate through actions; wordssound so inelegant when verbalized through my furry snout.
“Wump.” Zosia trots over to the gold chair and leaps up, curling into a ball before closing her eyes. Apparently it’s past her bedtime.
I give a growly chuckle and then get down to work.
First, I need to sort out the crowded living room; it’s the only way I’ll be able to clear away enough space to transfer the unwanted boxes and other paraphernalia out of my bedroom. I begin by picking up every loose piece of newsprint and paper lying about and stuffing them into the recycling bin in the kitchen. Next, I find some large, black trash bags and start filling them with loose bubble wrap, food wrappers, a broken vase, a single mitten too small for Sophie’s hand, and anything else that I deem unsalvageable. I stack the bags by the door; once I’ve shifted back into my man form, I’ll haul everything to the garbage bins outside.
I move the boxes, broken lamps, and remaining unwanted junk out of my room, rearranging everything in neat rows in the living area. I pull down the bedroom curtains too, which are so old and filthy they’d not survive a trip to the laundromat. I realize that a passerby might be able to peer inside the window and see my werewolf form, but I feel it’s a small risk at this hour. Besides, I won’t be able to rest until my personal quarters are clean and orderly.
The mattress and box spring on the floor are new and still covered in plastic; I hoist them up, temporarily moving them out of the way. Next, I find a broom, mop,pail, and other cleaning supplies in the hall closet. Humming under my breath, I scrub my bedroom until not a speck of dirt remains. Then I move the dresser, chair, and mattress around until I’m satisfied I’ve achieved Feng Shui. Finally, I locate a set of sheets in one of the cupboards in the kitchen, which of course makes no sense, but then again, neither does anything else Sophie does. I make my bed, tucking and tugging the sheets until they are so taut I could bounce a quarter off them.
