Page 6 of Timber Hollow

6

Fries with Gravy on the Side

seventeen days to full moon

A ggie gave me the keys tonight after dinner, and I promptly loaded my meager belongings into the car. Of course, that ever-present itch to run, to slip between the trees, calls me into the forest first.

So, at two am when I finally darken the doorstep of my new living quarters, I’m glad a mere piece of paper greets me. It’s taped to the post at the bottom of the stairway, informing me which room is mine.

With just a backpack and a duffle, I silently make my way up the stairs, groaning at the sight of the unmade bed. There is a pile of sheets folded neatly at the end, though. I close the door silently, then make my bed and climb into it.

Sleep overcomes me like a sheet pulled over my eyes.

When my alarm wakes me, the house is still silent. Empty. Fine by me .

It barely takes me twenty minutes to shower and get dressed before slipping out of the door and into the Corvette that I had parked across the street. In the light of day though, the lot in front of the house looks big enough for a handful of cars. And there aren’t any potholes, so the Stingray should be fine. Before I go to work, I stop at the gas station, and then the supermarket to pick up a couple of things I can stock up on now.

Living out of a hotel room isn’t half bad, but it does get old after a while. My trip to the supermarket is quick, I don’t buy anything that won't last in the car until my shift is over.

When I pull up to the bar, the parking lot is packed, dusk descending through the trees. The front doors are open to the night air, and a pair of bouncers are out front checking IDs. Winding my way through customers towards the bar, looking for someone who looked like a manager. Instinctually I know it’s going to be a long , long night. It’s packed with patrons, and it seems like one of the two bartenders... Doesn't exactly know what they are doing.

On top of that, bottles of liquor are strewn and thrown haphazardly on the shelves, mixers are left out of the coolers. Dirty dishes piling up on the bar.

When I give my name to a human by the name of George, he in turn gives me directions on how to operate the POS to ring in drinks and food. How to clock in, what to do in the case of a fight- holler for the bouncers first, cops second. The boss is out for a few, but he'll introduce us shortly. The whole time, the guy is shouting to be heard over the jukebox, voice straining and crackling. I wish I could have told him I could hear him fine, without the shouting - thanks.

George showed me where the backstock of beer and liquor was, where the bathrooms were, and the location of the aluminum baseball bats beneath the bar, should I need it. And then, he promptly began gathering dishes and left me to it.

One bartender had on the same black t-shirt with the logo on it as George, though his looked practically new in comparison. I noticed everyone had the same branded bottle openers tucked in their back pockets.

The blonde bartender behind the bar with me had on a bikini top and jeans, her Coyote Bill’s t-shirt cut wide around the arms, cropped short. Her blonde hair was curled with cowboy boots on her feet. She was beautiful, with her bright blue eyes and creamy skin, not a single freckle in sight. She appeared to know what she was doing, with how fast she was slinging drinks out.

Aggie hadn't mentioned a uniform last night so I'd shown up in cut-off jean shorts, and a white cropped tee, despite the autumnal chill in the air. Trusty checkered vans on my feet to get me through the night. The addition of a bottle opener didn't really feel like an official uniform, but whatever . Maybe I’ll get the T-shirt later, but regardless I am glad to not be in pants tonight, with how thick the air feels.

Well, nothing to it, but to do it.

Fighting my way through the crowd to get back behind the bar, I start my first shift. This part of bartending is always the same.

'What are you drinking?' 'That'll be four fifty.' Over and over again, I take orders, dutifully hand out change, and open up tabs. Mix drinks behind the bar. Smile at the patrons of Coyote Bills.

I am taller than each of the other bartenders, by a few inches. A woman with an apron on came and got glassware, disappearing out back again within seconds. The blonde and I worked pretty well together, and I’m also pretty sure George told me the names of everyone already, but I must not have been paying attention.

I don’t imagine you happened to have been paying attention? I ask my wolf.

Nope.

When it is my turn for a break around nine-thirty, I grab my small backpack and head out the back doors beyond the small kitchen to the parking lot, asking the cook for an order of fries, gravy on the side please as I pass.

A single hand raised into the air tells me he heard my request.

The air is crisp, and invigorating. September has cooled the August heat. Even as a Leo- a summer baby I love when the air turns, changing the greenery into a landscape of orange, yellow, and red. The colors of the fire that live in my gut.

Or so the astrologers say.

The night air is a perfect balm for the sweat coating my skin. Breathing slowly, I absorb the light of the Moon.

She is new, barely visible. Just a small crescent shape hanging high in the sky. Another few weeks until she's Full, and the Pack run.

My luck so far has been great. The Pack has not sniffed me out yet, despite my frequent runs through the forest. It'd been long enough since I left, I guessed, long enough that there was no one left who would recognize my scent.

Even so, someone must be aware of my presence here. I’d left a literal blood trail to Aggie’s doorstep.

Until someone makes me go see the Alpha, I’m merely biding my time. Timber Hollow had once been my home… I’m not sure if I can still say that about the town. The forest, though...that would always be my home. Once upon a time, no one in the Pack had known these trees better than me.

The door to my left creaked open, the older cook holding a tray of fries with a side of gravy out to me, like a peace offering.

"Thanks." I smile, taking the tray from him.

"Sure thing, Darlin'." The old man has the voice of someone who grew up in the South but had managed to travel enough that the majority of the southern drawl has vanished. It is always there on the ' Darlin's he'd handed out like candy to all us bartenders though. The cook wears a black apron that covers him from neck to shin, leathery skin full of faded tattoos. I'm sure he has a name, but I've only heard him referred to as Cook. Nothing else.

The door slams shut when he ducks back inside.

I have another fifteen minutes to eat these fries, and then I have another four hours of bartending to get through.

And another run, right?

And another run.

As it turns out, George doesn’t need to introduce me to the owner, as the door creaks open once more.

I'd learned the owner of the bar is named Ivy from the blonde bartender, Angel. I am taller than her, but it isn’t by much. Ivy has dark eyes and dark hair loosely braided down her back. The turquoise earrings dangling from her ears look to be handmade. She wears leggings and a Coyote Bills tee, feet tucked into lavender Converse.

"Hey, I'm Artemis. Want some?" I greet her, holding the plate of fries out to her like an offering. She laughs, taking a french fry from the plate and dunking it into gravy.

"Ivy. You're Agnes' niece, right?" She replies, putting the whole french fry in her mouth.

"That's me."

Wasting exactly zero time, Ivy launches into what must be her new hire speech. "Ground rules? Don't fuck the patrons while you're on the clock okay? Fights break out and shit gets busted, and then I have to fire people. Don't steal, don't lie, and don't be a dick to your coworkers. Simple, right?"

"Exceedingly," I answer.

"We're usually closed for the full Moon- so don't worry about losing control or anything like that."

I blink in surprise. Even the bars that I worked at all those years ago were open on full Moon.

"You’re a shifter too?" I ask, expecting her to agree.

"Obviously. Black Bear. You?"

I grin. "Black wolf."

"From Timber Hollow? That's rare." Ivy sings as if I’m not aware of that.

"I've been gone for a while," I say, directing the conversation away from the shade of my fur.

"Agnes said as much," Ivy replies. Hearing someone call Aggie by her full name feels foreign... Strange.

"How do you know Aggie?"

"She was a friend to my Uncle. Came to the funeral when he passed and helped me out a little with getting my bearings with all this." Ivy says, gesturing behind her, and the exterior of the bar we lean against.

"Aggie's good like that," I reply, and Ivy makes a sound of agreement in her throat, taking another french fry. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I take it out it reveals a weather update for the evening.

"Shit," I hiss, seeing the time on my phone, and realizing that it is well past time for me to return from break. My plate of fries is barely half eaten, my stomach still painfully empty. "I have to get back in there," I say to Ivy, pushing off of the wall.

"No, you don't. New hire orientation with the boss." She winks at me, snagging another french fry. "I have more fries coming out too."

Right then, I feel it in my soul that Ivy and I? We are going to get along great.

Angel, the blonde, was supposed to close down Coyote Bills with Ivy, but she had some family emergency so I offered to help Ivy do it. I've done it countless times at other bars, so how different would it really be? Overhead lights illuminate the space, walls decorated with vintage signs and license plates. Neon signs with the bar's name are now dimmed, their humming silenced. Music still plays, though at a considerably lower volume than during business hours.

I collect bottles and cups that remain scattered around the bar, depositing them next to the sink where Ivy is washing and rinsing.

After I pull bags out of trash cans, I take them out the back exit, remembering the dumpster underneath the power line from earlier. We had deposited the paper tray and remnants of our fries into it hours ago.

A row of floodlights encircle the entire bar. They look new, and the hum of electricity from all the lights shining at once is practically deafening in the otherwise silent night. When Ivy and I had been out back here, they’d been considerably less bright. When I go back inside, I find Ivy out from behind the bar, a rag in one hand, and a spray bottle in the other.

"Bright as shit out there," I say to Ivy, chuckling as I walk over to the sink to wash my hands, they'd gotten sticky from the bottles I'd picked up from a hidden corner on my way back in here. Fuck if I knew what the fuck had been on them if it wasn't just beer or juice.

Whatever the stickiness was, I don’t want it on my hands anymore.

"I don't want any of the human women feeling sketchy outside in the dark. That's all." She replies, shrugging while she wipes down tables. We've already restocked beers in the coolers, wines, and mixers.

Yep. That makes sense. "I thought they looked new. Nice." I say, just to make sure she knows I’m not trying to be an ass. I've never worked at a bar that was illuminated so well while I closed. The other two bartenders are also human, so I appreciate Ivy's efforts to keep her staff safe.

I grab a rag from the pile, and the other bottle of sanitizer and set about wiping the other half of the tables. Ivy had told me earlier that we don’t need to touch the bathrooms. She has a cleaning crew come in every morning before opening because she hates cleaning bathrooms.

Thank fucking god. I hate it too.

And that is it for my first shift at Coyote Bills. I learned that the original Bill was a coyote shifter- big surprise, and had left the bar to his favorite niece, Ivy. She has some plans for the place, weekly events like fire night to keep the business fresh, and to increase the revenue on nights that weren't fire night. She doesn’t want the bar, her uncle's legacy, to remain a little hole-in-the-wall dive bar forever. She wants to update the decor a little, less cobwebs. Small things like those, would potentially help the business thrive. I think Ivy is a genius, and I want to help.

So, with butterflies in my stomach, I suggested slap shots and had the delight of explaining what they were while we were wiping tables.

Patrons line up for a slap in the face and a shot from a hot bartender. Maybe throw in a little praise for good measure. Ivy loved it. We are going to do it tomorrow night at Fire Night, as a soft launch. I have such a good feeling about this place. About Ivy.

I leave Coyote Bills much, much later after closing. Ivy and I have so much in common, that it had been hard to stop talking, once we got started. So many hopes and dreams in common, and similar tastes in books. All her ideas on how to turn this place into something more inspired me. Made me think that maybe Timber Hollow wouldn't be so bad, after all.

Now, I am pulled over on the scenic overlook just outside of Timber Hollow. I feel… Hopeful. More hopeful than I've been in a long, long time.

Hope is a silent killer. I could only hope that it won’t come for me.

Guided by the Moon I shift once more, surrender to the beast inside, and run through the trees. Down the path to the waterfall, through the clearing. Around the small lake, tucked away in the woods.

And even later, standing on a rocky outcropping I hear the pack.

My pack.

Howling into the night. Running with joy, together. All of them out there, happy…Without me.

Something cracks, something fragile breaks loose deep within me.

Will they even accept me back? After all this time?