Thanks to lil artist and xXKazaneXx for their reviews. If I'm getting people to review when they usually only do it once or twice, I must be doing something right. :D As for the werewolves, there is some ribbing, but they're not in this story much. There aren't really a lot of therm around, before James and his people roll into town.
Also, my computer is refusing to access the internet. I'm posting this from a friend's laptop. So updates might get delayed without warning. Just so you know.
But now, something special for you all! After looking over your reviwews, and re-reading the whole story to myself, it occurred to me that I might be being a bit too vague in regards to what Maureen is. So here's some big fat insight into her nature, in the form of a bonus chapter. It's a little excerpt from her childhood. Hope you enjoy it!
Bonus Chapter: Parting Ways
November 4th, 1997
A leaf hit Maureen on the cheek, then tumbled to the ground. She lifted a hand to absentmindedly scratch the spot, eyes still counting stitches in her lap. The suburbs of Southwest Sacramento could hardly be called 'cold' even in autumn. But they did get a bit blustery, and the tree in Maureen's front yard seemed to have decided that if its leaves weren't going to turn colors and fall, the wind could just pull the green ones right off.
Maureen was perched on the stoop outside her front door. Her hair, almost long enough to reach the middle of her back, was caught up in a ponytail. Skinny legs stuck out from a pair of lavender shorts, and her white t-shirt had the phrase 'MacKenzie Summer Camp' emblazoned across the front in cheerful blue letters. It was the sort of outfit that any teenager would vehemently deny ever having worn. But like most young children, Maureen was oblivious to her clothes.
Unlike most young children, however, Maureen's eyes were sharp, and utterly focused. Her attention never left the bundle of yarn in her lap, even as she shifted her butt on the stone stoop, or raised a hand to brush a leaf from her hair.
The screen door behind her creaked open, then clattered shut. "Still at it, my little spider?"
Maureen didn't turn her head. "There's not enough room for eight double stitches in one chain, Mom." She said, exasperated. "I don't know how to fit them."
"I'm sure you'll figure it out. Later, though. Look at me."
If Maureen's father wanted something when she was busy, he often had to repeat her name several times to get her attention. But Maureen's mother could always pull her out, just like that. Her voice had that kind of tone that strongly suggested You Pay Attention.
Maureen put the crochet hook down, and looked over her shoulder. Her mother was standing behind her on the stoop, one hand resting comfortably on her side. She was not the sort of woman people called 'pretty' or even 'decent-looking'. She was large—fat all around the torso, with a round, chubby-cheeked face to match. And her arms and legs were skinny, almost disproportionate to the rest of her. But all that ceased to matter when one looked into her eyes. Round and clear, her dark eyes were magnetizing. Maureen found she could stare at them for ages and ages. They were the sort of eyes everybody fell into.
"Are we going somewhere?" Maureen asked. "Some place?"
Maureen's mother smiled. "After the last trip? Honey, didn't three nosebleeds in two hours put you off traveling even a little bit?"
"But it was so much fun!" Maureen's eyes widened at the memory. "I liked the monsters best, the Orfs."
"Orcs."
"Orcs, yeah. The ones who were dressed like soldiers. But the whole place was beautiful, land, sea and sky. Even the scary woods, with the spider packs."
"Lazy lobs and crazy cobs." Maureen's mother said. Her magnetic eyes had taken on a glittering, predatory tint. "Little more than beasts with speech, those attercops. But that's best, really. Being uncivilized. They understand what it means to kill for food."
"It was great, Mom. And when it spoke it was like a song, or poetry in a foreign language."
"But going there wasn't healthy for you." Maureen mother stepped forward, and motioned for her daughter to make room for her on the stoop. Maureen complied, and her mother settled her girth onto the step. "You're too young for big trips like that, even with me taking us."
"I'm almost ten." Maureen declared. "I'm growing more every day. And feel this!"
Maureen held up the wool scarf she'd been crocheting. Her mother touched the wool, then squeezed it.
"It feels cool." She said.
Maureen beamed. "I asked it to give cold, instead of warmth." She said. "And it's working!"
"I'm glad." Maureen's mother said, voice soft. She took her hand from the scarf, and cupped Maureen's cheek.
"I need you to be levelheaded, Maureen." She said.
"Okay."
Maureen's mother made a pained face. "It's not that easy, little spider. It's not the sort of thing I can just order you to do. I can't ask you to be mature, and have you suddenly be mature. Maturity requires time, requires effort. It's no idle boast when I say you're ahead of the curve…but this is big."
Maureen's face sobered. She bit her lip.
"Big how?" She asked.
Maureen's mother sighed. "I….let me start this way. You know how parents tell children that problems between the parents aren't their fault?"
Maureen nodded.
"Well, that's only partially true. Sometimes the presence of a kid can complicate matters. But the main problem is between the parents. You understand that, right?"
Maureen scowled.
"…it's not my fault you and Dad argue all the time." She said bluntly. Her voice, normally high and childish, had abruptly dropped an octave. "I hate it when you fight. I'd do anything to stop it. I'm not taking any blame for it, even if you say a little of it is because of me."
Maureen's mother smiled widely. Her white teeth shone in the sunlight.
"No, the fighting is not your fault." She said triumphantly. "And your refusal to accept blame for it makes me more proud of you than you will ever know. You're going to be fine, my little spider."
"I'm not a spider." Maureen said.
"No." Maureen's mother cocked her head to the side. "You're something else. That's been obvious for awhile, now. You need to find your own name."
"Help me pick one."
"I would love to. But I won't be around."
Maureen's face didn't change expression. She wasn't sure why. But she did feel her heart slam against her ribcage once, twice.
"Where are you going?" She asked. Her voice was quiet, but edged with sudden hysteria.
"Away. Anywhere." Her mother's tone was flat. "I can't stay here, in this dullard's reality. This place is full of pain and empty shadows, of stories that cannot come true. Even here, on this beautiful street. It's like a prison, Maureen. It will feel that way to you too, one day—or it might simply feel like hell."
Maureen took a deep breath. This, she understood. This place she'd been born in, grown up in…it was a place where people wrote fantastic tales, produced marvelous stories. But none of those wonderful things ever existed here. They were always imaginary. And as she grew, her frustration and sorrow at this place had been growing to.
"Let me come with you." Maureen said.
"It's too far and hard to travel." Maureen's mother said. "Even if you were older, you might not make it."
Maureen shut her eyes. "Because I'm less than you." She said. "Because Dad's not like us."
"It wasn't fair of me to make you." Maureen's mother said. "I should have…you should had had a different father. But I did love your Dad…I do love him still. Just not enough."
"Being mostly human." Maureen said. "That's the part that is my fault. I'm not to blame really. But still, there's nothing I can do about it."
Maureen's mother smiled sadly.
"You're so clever." She said. "You can see through to things. You can even understand that our nature—and the nature of humans beings—is one of self-preservation. We're all selfish, in the end. And it's okay to be selfish. I'm doing what I have to do. And so will you, when you need to."
Maureen's mother grimaced. "It was unfair of me, to make you your father's daughter. Then again, if someone else had been your father, you wouldn't be you. So I suppose it's a moot point."
She stood up from the stoop. Maureen did as well, the scarf and hook tumbling from her lap.
"You've dropped your work."
"I don't care." Maureen said hopelessly.
"You should care. It's the deepest part of you." Maureen's mother bent down, and scooped up the scarf, yarn and crochet hook. She handed them to her daughter.
"I'm not leaving this instant." Maureen's mother said. "It will seem sudden to your father. But you deserved to know, and have time to prepare yourself. Everything will be okay."
Maureen nodded. Her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and the two walked into the house.
Internet willing, the story resumes tomorrow.
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