The day was sunny, even so early, as Eddie Monroe chugged his laboring car into the mechanic's obscure little parking lot. He was the only car there, save for the nice German-made model the mechanic presumably drove. The car coughed as Eddie twisted the key into his palm, silencing the classical concerto on the radio that was doing nothing to calm him. Despite what the celestial bodies told him, it was not a good hour for the blutbad to be out in public.
Grinding his teeth to repress the anger boiling up in him, he wrapped his long fingers around the steering wheel and squeezed. That mechanic had already told Eddie one lie: that he was absolutely mobbed and that he needed the car in the shop at opening, or Eddie might have to wait for days to him to get around to it. Lying little...Eddie thought furiously.
And then he realized what he was doing. One, he was close to bending the steering wheel. His fingers were sprouting fur and his canines were lengthening in response to his emotions. And two, he was letting his wolf get ahold of him.
Consciously, he let go of the steering wheel, tilted back his head, and took several good, deep breaths. Because the appointment was so early, Eddie had had to eschew his morning Pilates routine. And his coffee. Thus, the inner blutbad was a little too close to the surface for comfort.
He really shouldn't be out in public like this. Best to get it under control before he went in to deal with the mechanic.
A tap on his window nearly made him wolf out on instinct.
"You gonna sit out here all mornin'," asked the mechanic in the hickest accent Oregon had to offer. "Or are ya gonna come in so we can talk business?"
Eddie chewed his own teeth back into his gums before he answered, "Yeah, I'm coming."
He followed the mechanic, whose chest patch declared him Bobby, into the tiny brick office that sat in front of the large, corrugated steel car bay. Bobby sidled behind the counter, seemingly not in a hurry at all, and sat down on a chair that hissed to accommodate his large, saggy, coveralled rear.
Eddie was behaving. Barely. Watching Bobby take a sip of his steaming mug, put on his readers, languidly lick his pen to life, and bring a clipboard to bear had his gums itching again. "Now then," drawled Bobby. "What can I do fer ya?"
"Over the phone," said Eddie with practiced evenness. "You said it sounded like a water pump problem."
"That I did," replied the mechanic, scribbling something. "But it could be yer spark plugs, yer transmission, or yer fluids." His eyes fixed on Eddie over his readers, obviously judging his neatly pressed and matched clothes. "You do check yer fluids, right?"
"Yes, I do," said Eddie, with a hint of indignation. What car owner, much less a guy, didn't?
"I see," said Bobby, making a note. After a checking a few boxes on the paper, writing another note or two, and checking a manual the size of a phone book, he looked at the steadily fuming Eddie. "This'll take all day," he declared.
Eddie very nearly lost it. "All day!" he barked. Snapping his jaws shut around the growl that rose in his throat, he swallowed his rage and said, albeit with great care, "Are you serious?"
"All day," repeated the mechanic. "Six hours at the least, until tomorrow at the most."
Eddie breathed surreptitiously through his nose and out his mouth. "Fine," he said, in a way that clearly meant it wasn't. He turned to go before he ripped the mechanic a new one (verbally OR physically).
"Hey, young fella," said Bobby. "I need ya to sign here."
Eddie did growl this time, but only a quiet, little one for his own purposes, and stalked back to the counter to scrawl his signature on the dotted line. "Thanks," he said, begrudging the word.
"Yer welcome."
Outside of the office, Eddie gulped some fresh air and sighed. His entire day, out the window. He had a 20th century heirloom pocketwatch to fix and have in the mail today, or he'd have to explain to the owner of the treasure why he was late with the repair.
Eddie sighed again and rolled his shoulders. He saw another all-nighter in his future.
Suddenly, the wolf surged to the front of his mind, whiffing a scent. Eddie's eyes turned red, and his nose twitched appreciatively as he inhaled. Coffee, thought he and the wolf in unison. Stuffing the animal back down, Eddie located the source of the delectable smell: a place across the four-lane street, nestled between two chain fastfood joints, called The Daily Grind.
Without hesitation, Eddie began to walk. Crossing the four-lane wasn't terribly hard, but the parking lot of one of the fastfood joints was a madhouse. A grannie with a disposable cup in one hand and a cigarette in the other nearly bowled him over. "Oregonians and their biscuits," muttered Eddie, placating her with a gesture.
Outside of The Daily Grind, Eddie's ears pricked. There was a lot of people in the coffee shop. Looking through the glass door, he saw every available table filled.
Forget that. He had time to kill, and he needed his morning mud.
As he dinged through the door, he garnered glares from all those nearest. It took Eddie a moment to discern why. In the rear of the spacious shop, a makeshift stage had been erected. On it was a quartet of people with instruments. The crowd within the shop hushed, expectant.
The girl in the long skirt and one foot on a chair propped a flat, circular bodhran, or Celtic drum, on her knee, and flipped a piece of wood lobbed on both ends between her fingers. At a nod from the violinist, a tall man dressed in black, she began to beat out a rhythm with a twisting motion, using both ends of the wood. Dum, dumdumdum, dum, dumdumdum...
The violinist brought down his bow, and filled the air of the shop with notes as sweet as the scent of hazelnut creamer. The guitarist, whom Eddie noticed was seated in a wheelchair, joined the violinist and added spine to the melody with his clever fingers.
A flourish of a tambourine brought Eddie's attention to the final player, a willowy woman standing in front of a mic on a stand. Despite himself, Eddie found his gaze transfixed by the pink of her lips, perfect against her complexion, as they sang the opening lines to a song.
"And she danced through the wood, like a gypsy girl should,
And she laughed in the face of the fire...
As if on cue, the lights above the stage caught her deep copper hair, and Eddie scented the presence of more than one spike of desire within the shop. The singer's hips caught the bodhran's full measure beat, and she continued:
"Under black velvet skies, with the moon in her eyes,
Head held high, tambourine held high'r."
Eddie caught himself thinking how appropriately the song fitted the singer who brought it to life, and mentally gave himself a mighty shake. He could feel his inner wolf, which was the source of this ridiculous lapse in focus, shake out its thick scruff as though fending off a bothersome insect. With a quiet snort, Eddie wound his way around the tables of captivated humans and bellied up to the cold marble bar.
"One mocha, double shot of espresso, whole milk, please," he told the barrista, jolting the young man out of his daze.
"Sure thing, man."
Eddie paid and stepped to the end of the bar to await his indulgence, and noted how markedly soothed he was just from a few minutes of listening. He could see the day looking up: he was surrounded by good smells, he was about to suck down a massive amount of caffeine, and the music was his cup of tea.
But, strangely, his eye was drawn again to the singer. She was still swaying, tambourine keeping time and ending each measure with a shiver, her voice rising bird-like and lovely from the elegant throat exposed by her occasionally tipped head.
Good prey, whispered the wolf in his mind. Strong, fast, give good chase.
Stop it, Eddie growled at it, squaring off in his skull with his base nature.
Listen to her, continued his blutbad blood, practically sing-songing with glee. She would make beautiful sounds if you bit her...
STOP IT! shouted Eddie in his mind, rubbing his temples with a scowl.
"Mocha up," said the young barrista, startling the blutbad back into his right mind.
"Thanks," he managed to say around his deeper voice, scooping the steaming paper cup off the counter.
The singer was resting during the musical bridge between what Eddie's trained ears could tell was the final verse. He sipped his beverage, reveling in the stability it gave him, and gave in to watching her. She was standing still, not subtracting from the musicians' spotlight moments, but her eyes roamed the room.
They landed on him. They stayed on him.
Eddie's heart jumped in his chest, but the blutbad in him knew a challenge when it saw one. He didn't break her gaze, not even when she started into the final verse.
"I can see her in you, kindred spirits are few,
If you find one, you hold on for good.
And if you lose your way, if your path goes astray,
She will lead you back to the wood."
The crowd erupted into applause as the instruments ended with an embellished sweep. Eddie sank to a handy barstool and studied his coffee to hide his emotions. He now knew the meaning of the word 'floored'. It was like this stranger of a woman was reaching across the densely packed coffee shop with her words to spear him in the heart. It was a rarity he came across anyone with whom he could identify, Grimm or not. Well, there was Nick, but that friendship was as wobbly as a newborn foal.
And as for the final line, his wolf unhelpfully supplied, Would like to get lost in the woods with her.
"Ugh," Eddie grimaced, brushing the animal off.
"Ugh, what?" asked a melodic voice from beside him.
Eddie jumped and nearly sloshed his entire coffee. The woman singer had appeared beside him, and was staring up at him with curious, slightly hooded green eyes. Her pink lips were curled in a kind smile.
Eddie recovered from his startle just in time to watch her face morph. Those green eyes that had pegged him from across the room blinked, and the pupils went from human to vertical.
"Are you a kindred spirit, good sir?" she purred, literally purred. Her cheekbones sharpened, and her nose tugged down like a cat's. "Well?" she queried again. Whiskers sprouted from the spatter of freckles on each cheek.
Eddie was once again reduced to gaping.
Welcome to my story! I hope everyone who reads this budding tale enjoys it. I LOVE Grimm, and Nick can go jump off a bridge: I'm a Eddie Monroe girl all the way. WOLF POWAH!
Eddie deserves a life mate, and in this story, he gets one. How the two reconcile their - erm, inherent differences - is sure to lend to a rousing romance, fascinating fantasy, super supernatural, and a kick of a comedy. Tell me if I set the tone well (or not) in this first chapter. REVIEW!