A Wolf After My Own Heart by MaryJanice Davidson (good books for high schoolers .TXT) 📕

cub (werecub?) rescued. Cops blissfully unaware of what transpired. Intruder dealt with.

Intruder with merry green eyes and swimmer shoulders dealt with.

And now she was back. But she’d take precautions. Well. More precautions.

Home again, home again, jiggity—yeah, she’d never understood that one. Home again, then. Best to keep it simple.

1. What? Lots of people collect cookbooks they never use to cook with. It’s not weird. Shut up!

Chapter 6

She was she was she was here! Here in this old house that smelled like dust and

(lemons)

something sharp, something that would hurt his eyes and nose if he ate it and if she was here and he was here then she was safe but the other, the other

(cub)

girl, she was out in the world, out of his territory, but maybe maybe she would come to the house of dust and sharp smells and by now he’d prowled around twice and there weren’t any predators

(there’s me)

and the cub might come and then they would both be safe he would keep them safe and then his own cubs would come and he could make everyone safe not like not like

(the time Before)

when he was a cub, not like when he was small so that was that was good she was good and the cub was good and he would keep everyone safe and no one would be hurt and no one would die and leave him leave him alone.

“Boy! Get gone! I might not be able to see you, but I can smell you.”

(Mama Mac oh hooray!!!!)

(oh shit)

He jumped so high all four paws left the ground and he was grown he was a big wolf now and not a cub but he still wanted to run to Mama Mac and run away from Mama Mac because that yell meant trouble and he had to fall back had to slink from sight and smell and it was good because Mama Mac would keep her safe inside and he would keep her safe outside and maybe the cub would come and that was good it was all good it was very very very very good.

* * *

Lila hadn’t been back five minutes when the old-fashioned doorbell rang. It was really old-fashioned, the kind where you wound the button like a clock instead of pressing it, and instead of a charming ding-dong you got a loud metallic rasp that sounded like the house was giving you a raspberry: bbbbrrrrraaattttttttt!

“Let the madness commence,” she announced. Or would it recommence? Was that a word? Also, who masterminded the whole “let’s make doorbells sound harsh and rude” plan?

Bbbbbbbbbbrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaatttttttt!

“Jeez, give me thirty seconds to get to the door.” And on swinging it open (even on hinges, the front door was heavy): “Huh.”

A tiny woman in purple was beaming at her. She could have been anywhere from her late forties to her early sixties; her face was mostly unlined (save for the network of laugh lines) but her hair was white, she looked delicate but had a firm grip, she had dark brown skin but light blue eyes. Her jeans were dirty at the knees, but her sweater was spotless. She’d chewed off her lipstick, but her purple eye shadow was flawless. She came up to Lila’s shoulder, which meant she was slightly taller than a mailbox. A bundle of contradictions, standing on her doorstep.

“Are you here about the stray?” Lila asked.

“Maybe. What kind?”

“A dog, I think.” She’d gotten a bare glimpse of a lean canine fading into the shrubbery when she pulled into the driveway. Dog, her mind assumed, just like she would assume horse over unicorn. But now she was starting to wonder. The creature had been so fast, she hadn’t had time to see if it was limping from, say, being clipped by a decommissioned ambulance. “But maybe not.”

“You wouldn’t think it, given how close we are to Saint Paul, but there are a few coyotes out in the woods back of your house. They won’t hurt you, though.”

“Right, right. The old ‘they’re more scared of you than you are of them’ saying.”

“No, they just can’t be bothered. And before I forget, welcome to the neighborhood!” This while shoving a plastic container at Lila.

“Thanks.”

“My name’s Meredith Macropi, but everyone calls me Mama Mac.”

“My name’s Lila Kai, and everybody calls me Lila Kai.” She cracked the container and took a peek. “You’ve brought me piles of…confetti? Thanks. I was out of confetti.”

“Fairy bread!”

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s what it is.” The small old (?) woman bustled past Lila, taking back her container

(oh thank God)

and heading for the kitchen as if she knew the layout, then putting said fairy bread on the counter.

(Dammit.)

“So I just wanted to welcome you, dear…” This while eyeing the large kitchen and looking around at Lila’s few boxes. Probably wondering why there weren’t more, but too polite to ask. Once upon a time, everything Lila owned could be packed into one of those plastic boxes the post office handed out when you had to pick up a bunch of mail. Once upon a later time, seventy percent of Lila’s belongings were books. But last year she’d joined the hordes in the twenty-first century and bought a Kindle, then jammed it with downloads with the money she’d made selling most of her used texts.

“…and see if you need anything,” the woman was saying.

“Only confetti. And you fixed that. Thanks again.” Lila moved toward the arch that led to the living room and took a step back, as if ushering her out, hoping the other woman would take the hint.

Nope. She wasn’t budging from the kitchen. She wasn’t asking about the busted screen door, either, though it was barely hanging by part of one hinge, and whenever the breeze picked up, which was constant as it was chilly and windy, you could hear the whack-thwap! of it banging against the doorway. What’s-his-face from last night was quick and strong (though not quick enough), which bore keeping in mind when she saw him again.

If. If she saw him again.

She wanted