Page 1 of The Healer and the Wolf, Part One

1

VANESSA

“ W e really want to see you be more of a team player,” I grumbled to myself as I pushed down the pedals with a fervor I didn’t often have for my bike ride home. But I was steamed. Work was never very fun, but it was exceptionally awful lately, ever since Tiffany, the blonde terror, was named employee of the month.

“Come on. You can’t let her keep affecting you outside of work,” I lectured myself. “Just focus on the beautiful day.”

Easier said than done. While I wanted to pretend I was past the stupid high-school level of drama my coworker insisted on bringing to every shift we had together, she just was so good at getting under my skin, whether it was with passive aggressive comments or silly, mean girl behavior. It was just so exhausting.

It really made me want to find something else, but it wasn’t like I lived in a massive city. Unlike some places like New York City, or even St. Louis, the number of part-time jobs that would take on a college dropout were few and far between, and I was afraid if I took on full-time work, I wouldn’t be able to keep building up the little mini-homestead I’d dedicated the past few years of my life to.

Granted, considering it was a rental, it was foolish to put that much work into it, but still. It wasn’t like I’d ever be able to buy a house with the economy being what it was, so I figured finding a landlord who was willing to pretty much let me do whatever in a corner of his property was like finding a needle in a haystack. He was elderly and didn’t really have any next-of-kin interested in maintaining the land, but I was more than happy to pick up the slack as long as I was allowed to do whatever I wanted to develop the land.

So far, I had a nice garden put in—smaller than I wanted but impressive, nonetheless—and a restored greenhouse. Was it the Ritz-Carlton? Hardly. But it was mine. (Well, the landlord’s, but close enough.)

Was I in the most secure position for being twenty-six years old? No. But I knew plenty of people who were a lot worse off. I had a roof over my head, I had enough money to keep my cats healthy, and if something happened to my bike, I’d only have to wait one paycheck or so before I could buy a new one.

Well, a new to me one, but used was sometimes just as good as brand new.

I rolled my eyes at my own level of coping, and a flash of color grabbed my attention. I whipped my head in the direction of the vibrant orange. Sure enough, I’d spotted a beautiful clutch of chicken of the woods.

“Oh, man!” I cried to no one, skidding to a stop. I wasn’t the biggest mushroom forager—I still had a ton to learn about mycology and how to identify dangerous fungi—but I knew chicken of the woods like the back of my hand.

“Jackpot,” I crowed as I rolled my bike over to the side of the road and leaned it against the tree. Once I was sure it wouldn’t flop over, I headed over to the rotting log, where the bright orange, cream, and yellow mushroom grew.

The mushroom got its name not only from how the shape mimicked the tail of a chicken, but also because it was an excellent meat replacement. One hundred grams of chicken of the woods contained twenty-one grams of protein. While everything was expensive lately, meat was especially so, and no matter my position in life, I wouldn’t turn my nose up at a delicious way to save money and stretch out my groceries. I could fry some up and throw it in rice for a dinner that cost less than a dollar.

Mood significantly bolstered, I took off my backpack that I always carried for reasons like this—after all, it wasn’t like women’s clothing had pockets —and quickly began picking from the cluster.

It was quite the bounty, enough for at least three meals even with how much they tended to cook down. I found myself whistling as I stood, ready to sling my backpack over my shoulder once more.

But then I spotted some deadnettle a short way deeper into the woods, its pretty purple bells standing out with all the verdant green foliage and moss surrounding it. Wasn’t I running low on the salve I made from it?

“But do I really need to pick that now?”

Who was I kidding? Of course I did!

It wasn’t that the salve I made was a necessity , but it was nice to have around. deadnettle had astringent properties, was purgative, a diuretic, and diaphoretic, as well as being anti-inflammatory, anti-fungal, and antibacterial. She was such a hard-working little thing, but most people dismissed her as a weed instead of seeing the same beauty in her that I did.

“Well, since I’m already here…”

Despite its name, the deadnettle wouldn’t have any sort of effect on the chicken of the woods already in my bag, so I moseyed right over to that and started picking. It wasn’t a big cluster, so it only took me a few minutes, but as I stood, I saw yet another patch just a bit deeper into the woods.

I felt a bit like Hansel and Gretel, being lured farther off the beaten path with a piece of candy, but hopefully, there wouldn’t be a witch’s hut waiting for me. I liked to think I had enough wherewithal to recognize the danger in that.

When I was done harvesting the next batch and wrapping some spare twine I had around it, I noticed a very different color spattered between two pines just a bit ahead.

“Is that blood?” I whispered, my stomach flipping several times. While I didn’t like to think myself a coward, I was practical, and it didn’t exactly take genius survival instincts to know that going in the opposite direction of the danger was probably a good idea.

Although, what if somebody needed help? It wasn’t entirely unheard of for someone to get hurt in the woods and need assistance, and no one would have committed a crime this close to the road. Right?

“Hello?” I called cautiously, pulling my phone out just in case. I liked to think I could handle myself in a lot of situations, but there was no need to be cocky. I also unlocked it, and made sure I dialed the 9 and the 1. Maybe that was a bit paranoid, but I preferred to think of it as prepared.

After all, while I was only half-white, I was definitely doing the thing in horror movies where Caucasian women inexplicably went toward the danger instead of away from it. But I couldn’t, with a clean conscience, leave someone if they were alone and hurt.

“Is someone here? I can help! Make a sound to let me know where you are!”

I paused, waiting to see if anyone responded. It certainly would have made me feel better if they did, because all sorts of thoughts about possibly finding a body or even parts of a body floated through my head. It was a lot blood.

I was pretty sure that if the blood did come from a human then they were already dead. I should probably just call the authorities… but then the thought of being wrong, and wasting a bunch of time made me think otherwise. We were far enough out that it would take at least thirty minutes for cops to respond from the city, and in that time, if someone was hurt... well, it wouldn’t bode well for them.

So, I kept going, dread building in my stomach. I wasn’t sure exactly what I expected to find, but it certainly wasn’t to step through a thick line of foliage only to find a giant wolf lying on the ground, its back pressed up against a rotted stump for protection.

“Oh, my God!” I cried, leaping back.

The wolf didn’t so much as lift its head. With my heart thundering in my chest, I realized the blood trail I’d been following came from this animal. Specifically from the gaping wound on its side.

“You poor thing. That has to hurt.”

Now, I wasn’t some idiot who thought I was a Disney princess, so I didn’t get any closer. Injured animals were often the most dangerous, and this wolf was pretty injured—life-threateningly so. In fact, I was probably in danger by being this close to it.

And yet I couldn’t bring myself to step away.

There was something so inherently tragic about seeing such a majestic creature struggling to breathe, no light in its eyes. Wild animals were incredibly resilient, so it likely only needed the tiniest bit of help to push it away from the brink of death. The most obvious way to do that was to stop the blood flowing sluggishly from its wound.

No. No. I cut that thought off immediately . It would be the worst idea to try to help a wounded, wild animal all on my own in the middle of the woods. I’d have to be crazy! I knew that, and I told myself so with all the sternness I could muster.

It wasn’t happening. I was going to turn around and?—

Oh, who was I kidding? I wanted to help the wolf.

Well, if I was going to be lethally dumb, then I’d try to do it as carefully as I could. Setting my pack on the ground, I pulled out the bowl I ate my cereal out of at work, then tipped the contents of my water bottle into it. Hopefully, it would help a little.

I put it on the ground and used a stick to push it closer to the wolf’s head. It wasn’t easy, and plenty of water sloshed over the side, but at least I kept my distance.

Next was the sandwich I’d packed for lunch but never got to eat because I spent my break restocking the soda aisle. It was party and vacation season, so we were blowing through our supply of soft drinks way faster than normal. And as a small, local grocery store, we needed to do our best keep everything in stock whenever possible.

Keeping my eye on the wolf, I ripped the meat out of my sandwich and tossed it right next to the water bowl. I was both encouraged and discouraged by the fact that the wolf didn’t make any move toward me or the supplies I laid out. While it did make me feel a bit safer, it made the wolf’s prospect for survival pretty grim.

If I wanted to make a difference, I needed to stop the flow of blood, but I couldn’t really think of a way to do that without touching it. Which I wouldn’t do, of course.

Because that would be crazy . And I was not crazy. Sure, did I talk to my cats and my plants like they were humans? Maybe. But still, I knew better.

It couldn’t hurt to at least try to make a poultice, right?

I would have held the wound closed myself if I wasn’t at least a little bit interested in remaining alive. Instead, I took some of the deadnettle out of my bag and stared at it, wondering how I was going to make it into a poultice.

Normally, I would use my mortar and pestle or dry it and then put it in oil to diffuse. Considering neither of those were an option right now, though, I shoved it in my mouth and started chewing.

Fuck , it tasted bitter, like lawn clippings with a bit of an eggy taste at the end. Completely disgusting. Luckily, I didn’t have to fully masticate it, just get it into a sort of clumpy mixture.

Once I was sure it was right, I spat it into my hand. While my spit wasn’t exactly the best medium for a healing balm, it was better than nothing. I took a few hesitant steps closer.

It was hard not to be distracted by how truly magnificent the creature was. I’d known wolves were big, much bigger than we usually saw in movies—those were mostly wolfdogs, anyway—but it was another thing entirely to see it up close and personal.

Well, not too close.

The creature’s head was as big as my torso, his fur largely gray but with the occasional tawny undertone along his flanks and tail. He had a white patch on his chest, and I would bet one on his belly too, but it was impossible to tell with all the blood. Strangely enough, his paws also caught my eye. Once more, I was struck by how much larger they were than a dog’s—nearly the size of my face. The thought of being side swiped by that was sobering, and it stopped me from getting any closer.

I was in a bit of a conundrum. Although I wasn’t willing to get any nearer, I was still too far away to actually pat the poultice onto the wolf’s wound. And as much as my heart ached at seeing it in so much pain, I wasn’t stupid .

I supposed there was one easy solution… which was how I ended up slowly tossing gobs of deadnettle onto the wound. It required me to chew two more mouthfuls of the bitter plant, but I managed to cover a good area. It was impossible to tell for sure, but it looked like the slow, sluggish leaking of blood had eased off, reducing it to little more than a trickle.

I stood there a moment, just observing. I’d pretty much come to the end of anything useful that I could or was willing to do for the wolf. As tempting as it was to bury my hand in its impossibly thick fur, there were some lines I wouldn’t cross.

Almost as if the wolf heard my thoughts, it moved for the first time. I tensed, ready to run, but it only shifted its head enough to lap at the water.

That was a good thing. While I was by no means an animal expert, I’d volunteered at a lot of animal shelters, vet offices, and even spent one summer with a wildlife rehabilitation program to teach teenagers about conservation. I missed being able to do that, but there just weren’t enough hours in the day.

I felt quite a bit accomplished when the wolf moved on to mouth at some of the deli-meat. It would probably take a bit of energy to chew, and I hoped the wolf would be able to simply swallow it down.

“There ya go,” I murmured softly, crouching slightly. “Just do what you can.”

It had to be my imagination, because it was far too soon for there to be any difference, but it looked like the wolf was breathing at a healthier pace. Then again, maybe my presence was just pissing it off.

“Come on, Ven, you’ve done enough here,” I said, falling back into my habit of talking to myself. Considering I spent the majority of my time alone or with my cats, sometimes it was the only conversation I had. It wasn’t as if my aunt ever wanted to talk to me anyway. That had ended when I was a child.

It was time to call the rangers. They could be of real help to the wolf. Hopefully, I’d given it enough of an advantage to last until they could arrive. Honestly, that was probably the best-case scenario.

I pulled my phone back out from the pocket I’d slid it into—so much for being prepared to call 911—and thumbed through my emergency contacts for the ranger number I’d saved a while back. I went on enough hikes in the woods that I figured I should have it on hand, just in case. If there was one thing in my life I’d learned, it was that the worst tragedy one could imagine was often right around the corner at any time.

Before I could hit the number, a noise sounded in the bracken of the forest.

That wasn’t entirely unusual. It was a forest, after all. But the way the hair on the back of my neck stood on end had me whirling around, my hand already reaching into my pack.

It turned out my instincts were correct, too, because there were two very angry-looking bears about twenty or so feet away from me, and I didn’t mean the fun, leather-clad kind.

That wasn’t good.

I breathed in slowly through my nose and considered my options. I could run, but that would draw their attention to me and trigger their prey drive, which I definitely did not want. However, their focus seemed entirely on the wolf and nothing else.

Were… were they the ones who had hurt him?

It was ill advised to get involved in the matters of the animal kingdom. It was a cruel world, and sometimes interfering caused more harm than good. In reality, I should have just left and let nature do what nature wanted to do.

Instead, I reached into my pack and pulled out the flare gun I kept for emergencies. Sometimes I biked back from work extremely late, and one never knew what could happen in the darkness of the night.

“Get away!” I screamed as loudly as I could with my heart downright thundering in my chest. Oh, God, was I going to show up in the news as some moron who thought they could take on multiple wild animals?

Maybe, but large predators could occasionally be chased off if you made yourself the loudest, most disconcerting prey they’d ever encountered. I fired the flare, then immediately started waving my arms as I screamed. It was… a real scene, if I was being honest, but I wasn’t sure it was enough, so I stopped waving one of my arms long enough to pull up siren sounds on YouTube.

It was probably just adrenaline and my habit of anthropomorphizing things, but I swore the bears exchanged a real look before turning around and ambling off, disappearing into the verdant green.

“Holy shit. Did that actually work?”

I couldn’t believe it, and I allowed myself a single victory cheer before remembering there was a wolf behind me. Right.

I whirled back around. The wolf had finished the water and the food, its head nestled on the ground, and its eyes closed. If not for the steady rise and fall of its side, I would have thought it was dead.

I needed to get it professional help. The whole bear thing had distracted me. Looking back at my phone, I dialed the number, but it didn’t connect.

“What the hell?”

I tried again, then saw the I had no signal. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my pack and started to head toward the road.

“You’re not allowed to die,” I called over my shoulder. I couldn’t believe I was having casual conversation with a real, actual freaking wolf. “I put too much work into you, got it?”

Of course, it didn’t, but it made me feel better as I marched to the road. Thankfully, my bike was still there, and I sat down next to the tree as I called the number.

Explaining the situation didn’t take very long, and I was relieved when they said they were sending a couple rangers my way. Hopefully, they wouldn’t euthanize the wolf instead of helping it, but I knew better than to ask. Sometimes it was better to stay in the dark.

Twenty minutes later, two rangers pulled up in a truck, which was much faster than I had expected. I had been down to wait for an hour, which really would have ruined my plans for the evening, but it was what it was.

“Can you show us where the creature is, ma’am?” one of them asked after we’d exchanged polite greetings.

“Yeah, right this way.”

I followed the trail exactly, the bloody patches browner than anything else, but when we passed through the cluster of foliage that led to the wolf, there was nothing there.

“I swear it was here,” I said, throat tight with surprise. Surely I hadn’t imagined it all, right? Maybe I really was crazy.

No, my water bowl was still there, exactly like I left it. So, unless I was seriously hallucinating, it all had happened.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. We can see something wounded was lying here,” one of the rangers said, polite as ever. “We’ll take a look around. Why don’t you head home?”

“Y-yeah, I’ll do that,” I murmured, cheeks still pink. Had the bears circled behind me and gotten the wolf? If they had, there would be so much more blood and viscera, right?

What a strange ending to the whole thing.

I grabbed my bike and started pedaling again. Certainly not what I’d expected. It was definitely a story, though, no matter how one shook it.

Man, I wished there was someone I could tell about my adventure, but who would believe me?