"GOD, WHY does it smell like a dirty, wet dog in here?" Gabriel covers his nose with his left hand, his right tightly gripping the handle of his white cane. He's blinking rapidly, head turning, his nose slightly in the air. I, on the other hand, can't smell a damn thing besides dust and the lavender air freshener.
"It is raining outside," I point out, watching the pitter-pattering water continue to fall from the air. "Maybe someone took their pet for a walk."
"No, it's in here. In my store." He takes off his sunglasses, which do little but show off his vampiric eyes as they flicker around like he is trying to find the source. "It's unbearable." With disgust warping his expression, Gabriel comes further in, cane sweeping the floor a bit slower than normal. If he expects to bump into a customer with a dog, he'll be sorely disappointed. Everyone who is here is either relaxing in the reader's lounge, or eyeballing him because literally only he smells anything akin to wet dog.
I play with the camera in my hands, checking over the pictures I took last night while Gabriel attempts to casually stalk around the building. No one is going to question his nose, least of all me, and I can see accusatory glances being thrown around by some of the more regular customers. With a soft chuckle to myself, I click over to the next image.
My bedroom. Silly thing, really, a photograph of my own bedroom. Cleaned up, organized for the first time since the semester started. And yet, it felt … necessary. Like it'd be the last time my room will be in that state. Who knows, finals are always a mess, and Junior year's been kicking wholesale ass from what I've overheard. Or, no, that isn't it. Isn't it at all. Something churns in my stomach, but I realize that it's the unnerving feeling of coming change that caused me to snap the picture. Will it be the last time my room is that neat, or the last time I see my room at all? I can't see my dad letting me up and leave Forks at the snap of anyone's fingers.
But my gut knows something. Knows something is wrong. I can feel it eating me alive. My attention returns to the counter before me at the not-so-subtle slamming down of three decently-sized books, and the grin of a Golden Retriever on two legs.
I could smack him.
"Hey, Mike. This all for you?"
"You got it, Arizona!" I roll my eyes behind their lids to avoid seeming rude, but after he dropped us like flies, his attempts to wiggle back into our lives is getting well beyond annoying. I remember over the summer how he'd added us to a group chat online and tried to get us to go to California with him. We all left the chat in record time. "Oh, and one of these," he interrupts my train of thought with one of our "Byrne's Books" stickers – a cozy looking fireplace with the name over the mantel. Rowan's idea.
"Alright, three books and a sticker priced at $3, that'll be $130.29." Mike's smile cracks just a hair. I look down at his books to prepare for the upcoming verbal battle. Dracula, Slayers and Their Vampires, and Vampirology: The True History of … man, that one has a long title! But my boss has us price the books as they'd be worth. Hardcovers are always more expensive, and just the last book alone is almost $90. "Will that be cash, card, or by phone?"
"C-card," he says with a chuckle. "Guess I let my excitement get bigger than my wallet." He pulls out a debit card and goes through the motions while I pack his books. Honestly, he's starting to pique my curiosity. Or, well, my nosiness. All of these books are about one thing, and two are historical. I just can't stop myself.
"Vampires on the brain?"
"Oh, uh, yeah." He glances over his shoulder, as though the concept of him enjoying vampires is something he doesn't want others to know about. "Just a hobby I'm getting into, you know. Keep my mind busy." That I understand, and I give him a slight grin. I put a handful of free bookmarks into the bag and slide it his way.
"Happy reading, Mike. See you around."
"See you! Oh! How'd your birthday go? It was last Friday, right? I got you a card, but I didn't have time to send it… I'll give it to you at school, Scout's Honor." I think for a moment at that, not knowing exactly what move to make. On the one hand, this is the most we've actually talked in months, and he's being friendly. On the other, he really hurt Jessica, and I don't think he's apologized for it even slightly. It'd be scummy of me to get close to him without talking to her first. Still, this is pretty non-invasive conversation… I nod my head.
"It was, yeah. Kinda glad it's over, you know?" Mike seems a little surprised, by how his head tilts like a confused dog when you pretend to throw the ball. "I've never been big on parties and the like, that's all. I got some good gifts, had some good times." My hand lands right over my cast while I speak, and Mike misses nothing. He points directly at my injury.
"Did you fall out of an airplane or something?"
"Close! Tripped and shattered Mrs. Cullen's stained-glass coffee table." I wince to sell it, and from his horrified expression, Mike definitely believes me.
"I swear to God, I don't understand how you're alive, if you're as clumsy as you seem. Is there an invisible barrier around you?" He playfully looks me over, head bobbing like a parrot who can't decide if they like and/or trust the person in front of them. "Do you have superpowers?"
"Absolutely I do. I'm immortal and unkillable until proven otherwise."
"Hey," he raises his hands, "don't let me stop you. Thanks again, Bella." He gathers up his bag and waves as he rushes out the door, into the rain, screaming at the top of his lungs. There isn't a single person in the parking lot who looks amused at this.
"Stained-glass coffee table?" A bark erupts from my throat before Gabriel or I can fully react to it. He just blinks behind his sunglasses, then pushes them back up his nose. "Really, Bella, I imagined you'd be much more creative than that."
"He bought it, that's what matters."
"Does Esme even own a stained-glass coffee table? Do those even exist?"
"Doesn't matter, I destroyed it with my ass."
"Your arm is on your ass?" I deeply consider the morality of smacking a blind man upside the head. From how he readies a book beside his head, he had the same thought process. "But in all seriousness, we need to work on your lying skills. Your eye, it twitches when you lie. Very concerning, if anyone else were to pick up on that. I'm sure Edward already has."
"Oh please, it does not." As if on cue, I feel my right cheek lift up ever so slightly. Damn him. "At any rate, he just earned you almost $200, I think you'd be a little grateful he bought my story. May buy more books."
"Aye, but it's the contents of said books that concerns me. For what reason would a young man who has never set foot in my store until today be buying the most expensive, most detailed books on vampirism? I know a few who make knowing about vampires their hobby, but one is a hunter."
"I don't really see Mike Newton being a threat to us."
"Us?"
"Y-you all, I mean. He's probably on a horror movie kick or something."
"Or something, I see. Well, perhaps I'm overthinking it. Excellent sale, Bella. And please, stop scratching it." Gabriel leans over and swats at the hand that was absently rubbing over my bandages. "The scab keeps breaking op—" He freezes, his head slightly turned over his shoulder. "There it is again," he breathes out with a hiss. "Coming toward us."
I look up and blink in surprise at a face I have never seen in Forks before. They're tall, I have to angle my eyes up just to look them in the eye, and their eyes have an unusual shine to them. It vanishes the moment I spot it.
"Hey, I can't find the price tag on this one." They set a copy of The Invisible Man down in front of me. Newer edition, with the faux leather cover and "gilded" edges. "One of my friends is turning 18 soon, I wanted to get her something nice."
"Oh-okay, let me just look this up really quick." They nod their thanks and lean against the counter, watching my fingers type. I take quick looks at them, my teeth digging into my lip. Their hair is blonde, nearing platinum, and the shaggy waves halo their face. I can just barely see a hint of brown or black at their roots. Their outfit is a little … rough, torn and stained, but clearly clean. Somehow they manage the Forks autumn in cut-off jean shorts and a sleeveless shirt.
"So, you from around here?" they ask, giving me a smile that reaches their eyes. Be this small talk or them wanting to learn more about the area, all I manage is a shrug.
"Moved in earlier this year, but my parents are from Forks. How about you?"
"Eh, where I'm from doesn't really matter, I'm not going back anyway. It's cool to see little shops like these are still thriving, though. I thought most of the small-town bookstores were bought out by Barnes & Noble ages ago."
"Yeah, Mr. and Mr. Byrne are awesome for opening up here. It's a pretty hot study spot, if you ever need somewhere quiet during midterms." They snicker, their nose crinkling. Their fingers tap along the counter, and I realize they're staring at the computer screen. "Oh, sorry! The book's $14.99."
"Yiiiikes, that's a lot more than I was expecting." They search their pockets and yank a leather bifold wallet from the back of their shorts. I see a thick stack of crinkled bills, but judging from their reaction, they're likely all of the Washington variety. They mutter something about how cold it is up by the desk before letting out a triumphant yell. "Finally, Andrew Jackson has some use," and they slide the 20 to me.
"Alright, let me get your change." I put the book in a small, paper sack, counting out the bills, and their penny, before handing them back to them. "And we're good to go."
"Thanks! Oh, ouch," they flinch when they spot my arm. "Rough night?"
"Birthday present from Hell," I shake my head. "It happens."
"Hey, I've got plenty of those." They hold their arms out, showing of a collection of scars that I was too distracted to notice before. Slashes, puncture marks, … bites? And not humanoid, either. They don't stop at the arms; every inch of exposed skin has some form of healed wound – some even covered in bandages – all the way to their face. It's faint, likely the oldest one there, but there is very clearly a tear along their otherwise soft jawline.
What in the world has this person been up to?
"I'd love to hear the story behind at least two of these sometime," I say, handing them the bag. "I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day!"
"Yeah, you too, er …" They squint at my ID badge. "Bella. The name's Loren. Maybe I'll see you around." Loren waves as they exit the store, joining a gaggle of teenagers just hanging out in one of the open parking spaces out front.
Gabriel, from behind me, lets out a low growl. "So that's where the stench came from."
"What, them?"
"Them, or the pack they're traveling with. Be warry around wolves, Miss Swan. Especially those in sheep's clothing." I turn toward him, spotting his white knuckled grip on the cane. "I'd know the odor of a lycanthrope anywhere."
"Werewolves? Here? You're playing with me."
"This is nothing to joke about, Isabella. If that Loren child is traveling with a wolf pack, then we have more troubles than whatever bear your father is chasing after. Packs can be reckless, hedonistic, and they are always – always – looking for recruits." He lifts his cane and prods me in the chest. "If they realize there are other supernaturals in Forks, we may have to deal with a territory conflict. Thank the Lord I'm not the only vampire in this town, or I'd be fucked."
"Gabriel! We have customers, mind your voice level. And your language." Rowan sweeps in, putting a finger to his husband's lips. "What is all this talk of vampires and werewolves about?"
"That teen that Bella just served smells like wet fucking dog. They've got to be with a pack!"
"Or they like dogs. Gabe, love, your paranoia about wolf pack has led us to five German Shepherds, 12 chihuahuas, and at least 2 poodles whose owners you assumed were werewolves based purely on your sense of smell. When is the last time you even encountered a werewolf?"
"1897, it was raining, and they were rabid. You cannot trust a werewolf, no matter their form. Remember that." He points in my direction before following Rowan to the storage area, the younger of the two shaking his head. I don't really know what to think here, truth be told. If Gabriel Byrne is wrong, then there's a chance I may have a new friend. Someone who isn't at all connected to vampires and witches or any other spooky shit. Which would be … kinda nice, really.
All the same, I make a mental note to binge any and all werewolf movies I have a DVD of when I get back home. Better to educate myself on this subject in some way. At the sound of footsteps, I turn to the next person approaching the counter, arms full of books.
"WHAT are you doing, Bells?" Charlie frowns, panting and sweating like a pig. I giggle behind my camera, lowering it from my face and letting it dangle at my neck. It's my day off from work, and my dad is rolling his eyes I lower the device.
"Oh, come on. You invited me to come here, remember? Don't get mad when I decide to document the experience." Our guest groans with him, and I squeeze Jessica's shoulder. "You'll get used to it."
"You're telling me I'll get used to hiking?" She leans over, hands on her knees, scrapes on her shins, and her formerly tight braid loose behind her head. "Mr. Swan," she wipes her brow, "I didn't realize how much exercise was involved in this."
I look around us at the Hoh rainforest, the oppressing humidity and blazing sunlight making our casual walk to familiarize Jessica with the paths of a trek through another planet. The autumn season hasn't cooled the densely packed forest much. Even with my walking stick, I've gathered a few new cuts and bruises on my good arm and legs, but in a t-shirt and already torn jeans – contrasting Charlie and Jessica's spiffy ranger uniforms greatly – I don't think I could have escaped them.
Though my bad arm throbs in protest to every movement, testing the strength of Carlisle's stitching.
"You think this is bad, just wait until you have to fire this." My dad pulls his vampire gun off his hip, the horn handle contrasting the tanned skin of his fingers. "Damn thing'll take your arm off, if we're not careful." Charlie looks it over before returning it to its home, no doubt feeling like a badass cowboy right now. Until you notice the week-old "beard", pit marks, and … him shift to fix a wedgie. Man just lost all levels of badassery. "Anyhoo, once we finish this trail, I'll take us straight to the ranger station so you can do some paperwork. Until you're fully trained, you'll be supervised by me, Cora, Vik, and Sue."
He starts to go on about what her role as a ranger will be – from trail maintenance to collecting litter on and off the paths – and I keep looking around. Enjoying the air, the cool breeze that cuts through the warm air. And keeping an eye out for whatever Charlie might have missed yesterday. Anything. Because the coincidence is too much for me to bear. Edward's asthmatic-like panic, Carlisle sending Charlie into the woods to look for something, and even Gabriel's theory that the gaggle of teens outside the shop could be werewolves. They have to be connected somehow, right? I was right about Edward being a vampire, so it's barely a stretch to me that I'll be right about this – if anything, Carlisle may be mistaking the teens for other vampires.
I pause for a second, noticing something strange on a nearby tree. Four deep gashes, narrowing the further out you go from center. I call out for Charlie and Jess, taking a picture for personal evidence. When Charlie appears behind me, his face shifts from curious to confused. Like it's something he knows he's seen before, but can't quite tell what it is. A moment of silence, and he lets out a grunt.
"Wolf marks. C'mon, let's get back to the cabin, they look way too fresh for comfort."
"But you have a gun…"
"This gun is for vampires only." Jessica shakes her head and points to the shotgun on his back. "Ah, yes. Buckshot, good for killing large animals. Know what's bad for killing large animals?" He rounds and points to the two of us, "a rookie ranger and a chicken winged witch."
I press my bandaged arm to my chest. "Aiming below the belt, I see." Still, he has a point. Wolves aren't really an issue in this part of the woods, or so Charlie's told me before. But with this obvious sign of them passing through, I think I would rather spend some time working on my government essay in the station. We get back on the path and follow his lead to the end of the trail, which loops around back to the main park, and the ranger station. The leisurely vibe is almost completely gone with the thoughts of wolves being around every curve or behind every tree. With every shift of the wind or a small snap of a branch, my neck cranes in the sound's direction, hoping that whatever I see is as mundane as the last sight.
We breach the forest to the sight of Sue Clearwater, one of the other rangers and a Quileute Native, looking quite pissed off at a group of teenagers. Her mouth is moving faster than I can read her lips, her voice getting clearer with every step in her general direction, to the point where I pick up on how deadly cave spelunking is right as she notices Charlie.
"Ranger Swan, I caught those kids sneaking into one of the blocked off caves." She reaches and grabs a teen with shaggy hair by the shoulder. "Mallory here thought I wouldn't hear all their giggling."
The teen I recognize as Loren, surname Mallory, snickers. "We weren't going to go too far in, we just needed a place to stay for a while. Right, guys?" Their laugh is rough, full of gravel, and when they look around, their eyes – deep, green as the forest around us – almost seem to glow. Charlie, with his arms crossed over his chest, glowers down at them.
"Well, Mallory, unless you find serious criminal trespassing humorous, you and your little gang are going to go to your parents. In fact, let's go to the cabin and give them a quick call." They take a step back. "Problem?"
"I'm 18, okay? I don't need you to call my parents."
"And everyone else?" He gestures to the four others, mostly girls, who are hiding behind Mallory's lean body as much as they can. "Are all of you 18 or older? I'll need to see some ID to be sure. C'mon, to the office."
CHARLIE'S office is one of a cluster of buildings just inside the entryway to the national park. There's picnic shelters, bathrooms, vending machines, and even a little gift shop that sells hiking gear. Inside the main building, he has Loren Mallory and their crew lined up on benches, a landline phone up to his ear as he contacts the phone number, the smallest, most sheepish looking teenager relented. The only one legally a minor, and not to be picked up by the police for trespassing. Charlie hesitated at first, but Cora managed to convince him that it's for the best. Jessica and I sit at her little desk, her looking over the pictures on my camera from our short hike, and stopping when the wolf scratches appear.
"I still can't believe how high up they are. I know wolves are, like, absolutely huge, but that's gotta be six feet. Right? It was over my head."
"Jessica, no offense, but uh, a lot of things are over your head." She decides that my head is the perfect target for the magazine she swiped from the lobby, lightly whacking me on my right temple with her tongue out.
"So, Mike called me yesterday."
"Oh? Did you answer?"
"I did, and I think he wants to rejoin the friend group."
"He's not invited to the lessons, just so we're clear. We'd have to keep all of this from him, if the others even agree to let him back in the group." I think about the books he had in his arms when I saw him yesterday, and decide to keep that information to myself.
"Wait, it doesn't bother you that he wants back in?"
"Bother? No. Annoy? Kinda, but we exiled him because he hurt you. I mean, I don't think my vote should've counted, but it happened. If you welcome him back, then I'll support it." Jessica's shoulders fall like a weight's been taken off her shoulders. She starts to say something when we both look at the figure that slipped into the room. Loren Mallory looks at us, their eyes wide in a mild frenzy and then … leans on the doorframe, a smirk on their face.
"Heeeeeyyyy."