Wolfsong (Green Creek 1)

I had faith in them even if I didn’t have faith in the man who’d cast them.

Not really. Not anymore.

But Gordo had told me that even though he was strong, and even though he was sure of what he could do, magic wasn’t infallible. It wasn’t the be-all and end-all.

Something had to give one day, he’d told me.

But I didn’t have to worry about that. Because he’d be back by then. That’s what he’d told me.

And I had believed him.

I had my crowbar. I never went anywhere without it now. It was an extension of me, and I kept it close at all times. An Alpha kept his pack safe. The crowbar was one of the ways I knew how to do that. I picked it up from where it leaned against my desk, its weight familiar. I didn’t think of the violence anymore. How easy it would be for me to kill whoever it was that came for what was mine. If I did, I was sure my hands would shake. Sure I would hesitate. I didn’t have time for that. Not anymore.

I moved through the darkened shop. Even the sign for Gordo’s was dark, turned off when the shop closed. The light from the office couldn’t be seen from the front of the shop, so whoever it was had no way of knowing someone had been there.

Unless they’d been watching.

I narrowed my eyes, letting them adjust in the dark.

The knocking came again, soft, polite raps against the glass. The door didn’t shudder. The knocking wasn’t angry. Just insistent.

I pushed through the door from the shop to the reception area, moving slowly.

There was the outline of a person standing at the front door, backlit by the hardware store sign across the street that Harvey always forgot to set on the timer. Whoever it was didn’t seem to have anything in their hands, but I knew that didn’t mean anything. Weapons could be hidden in sleeves. Fangs could descend. Gordo had told me that whatever I could think of was out there, and even after all this time, I could still think of many, many things.

I switched on the lights.

It was a man. An older man, face scruffy with gray and white stubble, dark eyes blinking against the sudden burst of fluorescence. He frowned a little as he watched me, head cocked. Then he smiled, teeth big and crooked. He knocked on the glass again.

“We’re closed,” I said, raising my voice.

The smiled widened. “I’m not here about my truck, Ox.”

I kept my face blank. “How do you know my name?”

“Everyone knows your name,” he said through the glass. “You’re not exactly unknown around these parts. All I had to do was ask. The folks at the diner are really partial to you.”

“Why were you asking about me?”

“Open the door. It’s best we talk face to face.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

The smile slid off his face. “I could just break the glass.”

“Then you’d be committi

ng a crime.”

He snorted. “Call the police. Have me arrested. You won’t get to hear what I have to say.”

“Why should I care about anything you have to say?”

“Because of your wolves.”

I tensed, alert. Angry. It was a threat, I thought. It felt like a threat.

“My wolves,” I said. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”