“Oh, and Miss Pavlosky?” Myra turned her head the slightest to smile, tight-lipped. “Have a wonderful morning.”
And then the vampiress disappeared into the night.
?
Billy scrubbed his face with his hands and leaned forward on his couch. After a few restless hours in bed, he’d given up on sleep and moved to the living room to watch infomercials after midnight. The flickering lights of the TV were starting to get to him. He could swear he was starting to hear noises, like spooks in his backyard.
He shook his head and hobbled from the couch. Not a drop of alcohol had touched his lips last night and yet he still felt like he was nursing the world’s worst hangover. Regret and anger punched him in the stomach when he thought about the last words he’d said to Stasia.
It had felt right at the time, but now he wasn’t so sure. What would his family and friends say once they saw his confession on late night national TV? Most people only knew bits and pieces of the story. Now, it was all out there. Too late to bottle it back up.
Some
thing shattered against his front door, like broken glass. Billy froze and stared at the doorknob. He hadn’t imagined that noise. Something really was going on out there.
Shaking off the shock, he sprinted toward the door and tore it open. He ducked just in time for another glass bottle to sail over his head and shatter on his living room carpet.
“Think you can take our spots in the pack, Finley?” Colt Wilson stood, half wrapped in shadows, at the end of his drive. He had a beer bottle in his hand, cocked and ready to release. “Think again.”
He chucked the glass and it burst on the side of the house. Billy ground his teeth in rage and began to stride forward, his eyes turning black. Time to teach those boys a lesson. A fist fight didn’t sound so bad at that moment. It’d be a good way to get out his frustrations. Part way down the drive, he stopped suddenly when the smell of fire caught his attention.
Orange flames licked the bottom of the garage doors and black smoke poured from the small crack above the pavement. A dark figure ran past the side of the garage and stumbled down the end of the driveway, whooping and hollering. Billy didn’t need to see his face to figure out who it was. Where Colt Wilson was, Reggie Wilson was sure to follow. And if he knew anything about the brothers, they were currently drunk out of their minds and as unpredictable as cornered animals.
Cursing them, Billy ran to the doors and grabbed the first door. The heat of the metal handle sizzled against his skin and he roared in pain. Thankfully, the injury wouldn’t last long. The healing powers of the werewolf would soon take care of it. Shaking off the stinging agony, he went to the second door and yanked it open.
Flames climbed the walls of the garage, reaching out with their deathly hands toward the timber ceiling. The Chevelle sat in a ball of flames and the distinct acrid scent of gasoline wafted toward the open door. Billy held up his arms to fend against the blaze, but the heat was almost strong enough to start his clothes on fire. He fumbled blindly for the fire extinguisher, hissing when he felt the soles of his boots begin to melt. If he remained in the flame any longer, he was going to die.
The realization hit him hard that he was going to lose his garage. His livelihood. There was no saving it. It was all gone.
Coughing and sputtering in the thick smoke, he made his way slowly to the exit. The fresh air felt like a balm on his lungs. He collapsed to his knees and sucked in the sweet nectar as smoke poured out of the garage behind him. The roof caught fire and something exploded, shattering the windows and throwing Billy hard on the ground.
“What in tarnation is going on here?”
He squinted into the woods to see Madge hobbling toward him, a fluffy pink bathrobe tied around her waist and her knobby knees in full view. She yelped at the sight of the garage in flames and rushed to his side.
“Did you forget to turn off the stove?” she asked, waving her finger.
Billy gave her an incredulous look. “Do I look like the kind of man who knows how to turn on an oven? The Wilson brothers did this.”
“Oh...” Madge rubbed a hand on her hairy chin and nodded. “That’s more like it. Very well. Let’s clean this up.”
She waved her hands toward the garage and instantly, the flames died down to embers. Billy stared in disbelief at the charred remains of his garage. He should’ve been grateful that the fire hadn’t spread to his home, but all he could think about was the blackened skeleton of the Chevelle sitting inside. The Wilson brothers must’ve covered it in gasoline and lit it on fire.
What he wouldn’t do to get his hands on them and teach them a few lessons...
“This certainly isn’t your best night,” Madge said with a shrug of her shoulders. She hitched up her robe and Billy had to turn away to avoid getting a look at anything that would haunt him for the rest of his life. “If I hadn’t been communing with my sister in the spirit realm at this late hour, your entire home would’ve been ashes. But don’t worry, my child. My guess is that Shep isn’t going to overlook this. Those boys will be lucky to still have a pack after this shenanigan.”
Billy ran his tongue over his teeth and sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, Madge was right. Once Shep heard the news, justice would be served. He could count on the alpha to do just that. No need to chase down the Wilsons and impart his own brand of justice. He had enough troubles for one day. He didn’t need to add in a potentially violent fight with two volatile werewolves.
“Good thing you have a pretty lady friend to take your mind off all this,” Madge said with a farewell wave. She hobbled back toward her house, cackling. “Don’t forget to tell her hi from old Madge. And if any of her friends should ever find themselves in need of a date, don’t be afraid to call.”
He shook his head at her disappearing figure. For once, it hadn’t been so bad to have that crazy old witch as a neighbor. Useful, even. He still had a home. But her words had brought back the headache he’d been fighting all night.
He’d confessed to manslaughter on national TV. His garage was toast. And he’d lost the love of his life — twice. There was no coming back from this. He’d tried to build a life in Alaska and Molodoy, only to have them both utterly destroyed.
He didn’t belong there. He didn’t belong anywhere. The best thing he could do would be to pick up and build a quiet existence far away from the reach of anyone that could hurt him.
And say goodbye to Monstrana once and for all.