Page 8 of The Alpha Dire Wolf (Bloodlines & Bloodbonds #1)

Sylvie

“S ylvie?”

I jerked my head up, breaking the gaze of the imaginary wolf in my coffee. “Yeah, sorry. What’s up?”

Charlene stared back at me, her blue-green eyes soft and open. “Everything okay? You were staring into your coffee. Most people drink it, you know.”

“Just been a long twenty-four hours. That’s all,” I assured her, glancing down only briefly before taking a deep sip.

The wolf’s eyes were gone.

“I understand. Umm, do you want me to go? I don’t want to intrude, but if you need some time alone.”

“No, no,” I protested, quickly waving her back into her seat. “Not at all. I just got distracted, that’s all. The company is appreciated, but don’t let me keep you from work or anything.”

“I’m off today.”

“Right.” I stared back at the coffee, trying to find those mismatched eyes in its murky depths. The only thing I could see was caffeine needing consuming. “Hey, if you aren’t working, do you want to go looking into it today?”

Charlene blinked. “Looking into what?”

“My grandmother.” I brandished the letter. “I want to ask some of her friends what they think about it.”

“Of course, let’s do it. I’m totally in for a mystery investigation.” Charlene smiled broadly. “It’ll give us a chance to catch up some more too.”

“I’d like that,” I said, rising from the table. “It’s been kind of lonely. Did I mention I got dumped yesterday morning before I found out about my grandmother?”

Charlene choked on her coffee. “You what? ”

“Oh, yeah. Come on, I’ll tell you all about Caidyn and his impeccable timing to tell me he’d found someone else .”

“This sounds juicy.”

I laughed, surprising myself. Perhaps moving on from Caidyn wouldn’t be that hard. “It’s more just an ode to that kind of man. You know, the ones who can’t commit. Not a good man, unafraid of what he wants. That’s the type I should choose. I just never do.”

Charlene laughed. “You and me both. Our childhood selves would be so disappointed.”

“Right?” The giggle just slipped out of me. “Say, didn’t we make a pact that we would be married with five kids by the time we hit twenty-five?”

Charlene’s face grew rounder, her eyes wide. “Oh my god, yes, we did!”

“I failed that miserably.”

“Me too. Not a single child between the two of us, and we’re twenty-six. We screwed up big time!”

More laughter filled the house. I couldn’t help but think my grandmother would be happy to know it wasn’t all tears and sadness after her passing.

“Now, where to first?” I asked, stepping outside. The air was already quite warm against my skin, a foreboding of the heat that was forecast for later. “Maybe the historical society? I met a Mr. Crane at the funeral. He might know.”

“We could,” Charlene said, in that tone that suggested she would go along with my idea but had one of her own.

“All right, out with it. What are you thinking?”

“I was thinking we should go visit Mrs. Anderloss.”

I grimaced. “Really? Why? She’s kind of a nut.”

Charlene bobbed her head in agreement, heading for the passenger door of my car. We hadn’t talked about who was driving, but it looked like she was going to let me.

“She’s definitely a bit eccentric, but she’s a member of the OLS senior council …” Charlene looked up. “I know. I know. But she’s our resident nature nut. Your grandmother’s letter mentions darkness and the forest. If anyone is going to know about it …”

I sighed, dropping into the seat. “It’s Mrs. Anderloss.”

“It’s Mrs. Anderloss,” Charlene echoed. “Desmond Crane is a good fellow, for sure. But nothing about the letter, or that guardian, sounds overly historical. I don’t think he’s our best bet. Not at first.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” I admitted. “All right. Off to Mrs. Anderloss’s … house.”

Which was technically the truth.

But when I pulled into the driveway outside of Agnes Anderloss’s Place of Nature, it was impossible not to feel it was stretching that selfsame truth.

On the outskirts of the other side of town, the Place of Nature, as the sign called it, was a haphazard assortment of nature “landscaping” accidents waiting to happen.

Trees grew at wild angles. Stones piled high to mimic waterfalls were perched precariously.

Wild bushes with razor-sharp thorns grew in the middle of the front walk, ready to prick anyone who wasn’t paying particularly close attention.

Here and there, water stood stagnant in pools, uncleaned and untouched, just as nature intended.

They smelled that way too. Animals frequented the overgrown grounds, with many smaller varieties calling it home—from squirrels and raccoons to rodents and even the occasional deer depending on the season.

The house itself wasn’t much better. Rumor had it that Agnes kept the windows open year-round, so all manner of creature could come and go as they pleased.

It was rumor because the rest of town avoided her if at all possible.

The smell was, as one news article put it, incredible .

According to Agnes, the human concept of “smelling fresh” was not one that mattered in nature.

I braced myself for the odor as we carefully picked our way past the thorn bushes and ducked under a tree that looked ready to fall at any moment, crushing whatever was unfortunate enough to be beneath it when it did.

After avoiding three of the four piles of animal feces and scraping what I could off my shoe from the one I didn’t miss, we were finally at the front door.

“You’re sure about this?” I asked, trying to keep the skepticism from my voice.

Charlene and I had been best friends for years as kids, but that had been a long time ago. She was defensive about her OLS friends, and I didn’t want to offend her. It was nice to have the companionship at a time I was feeling more alone than ever.

Being the last living member of your family sucked.

“Yes. Agnes and your grandmother spent a lot of time together at the OLS meetings. She’ll be able to tell you more.

” Charlene reached out and grabbed the large bronze falcon-shaped knocker, lifting and hammering it against the door twice.

Deep echoing gongs could be heard from the other side.

Not unlike a super-bass version of the grandfather clock at my grandmother’s house.

It took nearly a minute before Agnes opened the door.

“Char!” she exclaimed, her dark eyes lighting up with a glow that looked positively violet. It was an unusual coloring of the iris, and yet another reason Agnes was rather ostracized.

Though the sticks protruding from her hair and the leafy birds nest she wore atop it may also have played a part. Just a guess.

“Hello, Agnes. It’s good to see you.”

“Mrs. Anderloss,” I added. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hi, Sylvie. It is very nice to see you. I’m so very sorry about your grandmother. I would have been at the funeral, you know, but Charlie got into the porcupines again.”

“Charlie?” Charlene asked, stepping inside as Agnes stepped aside. “I thought he moved out.”

Agnes clucked in disapproval. “He did. But he stuck his snout where it didn’t belong and got a face full of quills for his pleasure. Several of them were close to his eye. I didn’t feel right turning him away. He’s upstairs resting.”

“Poor little dude,” Char said. “Those raccoons never learn, though.”

“No, they don’t. Do they?” Agnes laughed.

Apparently, Charlie was a raccoon.

“Mrs. Anderloss,” I said, stepping around decaying forest debris as we followed her deeper into the house. “I was hoping to show you something and get your impression. It’s concerning my grandmother.”

“About Helen? Of course, of course. In here.” Agnes pushed open a door, and we entered what could only be described as a séance room.

It was kept clean and clear of flora and fauna, which was a nice change.

Four large high-backed wooden chairs surrounded a heavy-looking table, stained black and accented with orange and red lines throughout.

I had no idea what it was for, but given the array of shrunken heads, jars of liquid with things in them, and other objects arrayed on shelves nearby, I didn’t plan to.

“Sit, sit,” Agnes said, gesturing to chairs as she planted herself in one with padding under the rear. “These old bones need a little extra cushioning lately.”

I smiled awkwardly, handing the letter across the table to her. “It’s dated after she died,” I said, sitting back to let Agnes read it.

“How bizarre.” Agnes scanned the contents. “This is her handwriting, though. I would recognize it anywhere.”

“Exactly my thoughts. But it’s weird. Wouldn’t you say?”

Truthfully, I had no idea what was weird to Agnes. To me, the half-acre surrounding us was all weird. To Agnes Anderloss, it was her life. Again I wondered if perhaps I should have been more insistent we go to see Mr. Crane. Surely he would know more?

“Very weird indeed.” Agnes looked up. “Is that it?”

I blinked. “Well, there’s also the contents of the letter. It doesn’t sound like my grandmother at all. Talking about the forest like that. The darkness.”

Agnes smiled. “That’s not weird at all.”

“It’s not?” I was thoroughly lost.

“Your grandmother has always loved it. Had an appreciation for it and for the living things, much as I do. But while my love is more down to earth, more focused on the individual things, the tree here, the rock there, Charlie, etc., your grandmother saw the big picture. She loved the forest, for all it contained. There’s a long history between your family and the forest.”

“What?”

Agnes nodded slowly, her purple eyes focused on me in the dim light of the room. “Long, long history. Very deep connection. Almost a link, you might say.”

I tried not to scoff, because Agnes clearly believed deeply what she was saying, and I was resolved to be polite.

“Did she not tell you about it?”

I shook my head. “No. She never spoke of it, outside of general appreciation for having it right outside the window. Why?”

Charlene was quiet, letting us talk, though her gaze was focused mostly on me.

“Well, according to Helen, her mother had told her. And she got it from her mother. And so on. I’m surprised she never talked to you about how the forest meant so much to her.”

“Why?”

Agnes hesitated. “I’m not sure. She just said it was important.”

“Important how? It’s just a forest. Trees, bushes, animals, insects. There’re forests everywhere.”

Charlene and Agnes glanced at one another.

“Sorry. I know your, um, society, probably thinks it’s more than that. I don’t mean to offend,” I said, scrambling to change the subject. “What about this guardian, though? Have you ever heard her mention that?”

“Guardian,” Agnes repeated, looking down at the table and tapping on it with the fingers of her right hand. “Guardian, guardian, guardian …”

Without warning, she shot up from her chair, startling both Charlene and me. Without saying a word, she went to one wall, where shelves of thick books were stacked in long rows, the cloth, or leather-bound spines showing no discernable titles that I could see.

“Guardian of the forest,” Agnes repeated, pulling out two of the books at random and putting them on the table.

She flipped open one of them, shuffling half an inch of pages at a time to find where she wanted to start.

“I’ve heard many things over the years. Many disturbances from the forest and those who live next to it.

I document them all, you understand. All the reports.

Ghosts and haunted houses, eerie noises.

The feeling of being watched, inside and out.

All of it. Something is different about this forest. That’s for sure. ”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept quiet. After all, didn’t most small towns think “their” forest was different? Everywhere old was haunted somehow.

“Aha!” Agnes pulled out a very old newspaper clipping from the book, much of it faded.

“Here we are. This article talks about someone who got lost in the forest for days on end. Not something I recommend without proper training. Not in this forest. A week later, they wandered out. According to authorities— pfah! —they had gone insane during their stay. They kept muttering about the heart, the darkness, and here we are, the guardian. The heart, the darkness, and the guardian. Those three words, over and over again is all they would say.”

I frowned. “What the heck does that mean? It sounds like what my grandmother was saying, but she wasn’t insane. Was she? Did she lose her mind in the last few days?”

“I don’t know,” Charlene said. “But it doesn’t sound good. Does it? A darkness?”

An image of a red-eyed rabid bear foaming at the mouth appeared in my mind. A second later, a blue-and-gold-eyed wolf burst through, shattering the bear into imaginary pieces. Protecting me. Again.

Could it be that simple?

“This is silly,” I said, suddenly not caring it if offended them. “My grandmother wrote like it was real. Now you’re telling me there’s an actual guardian and some sort of darkness in there that makes people go crazy? It sounds like magic.”

My biting laugh was met with silence.

“People have always felt that the forest was different,” Agnes said softly while Charlene nodded in support. “Have you never felt that?”

I opened my mouth to say of course not. It was just trees.

That same childhood memory, of walking under the mighty boughs and feeling the warm, cozy embrace of the forest came to me. I had no reply to the other women. How could I call them crazy when I had firsthand experience to back up their theory.

Then there was the wolf to consider. Could it really be the guardian? Why would it reveal itself to me, if so? I was a nobody.

And magic? That was impossible. It was all too much.

Why couldn’t you just tell me, Grandma? Why this wild goose chase? What was bothering you?

Wolf eyes in coffee filled my mind.

The damnable wolf eyes. Misty ice blue. Glittering amber gold. Always staring right at me.

In that moment, I knew I had to go back into the forest. To prove that the wolf encounter had been random, nothing more. Was it crazy? Maybe.

But believing in magic was even crazier.