Collected by Shawntelle Madison Page A

against my blouse and pencil skirt. They were clean, of
course—even after a few hours of work. My standard uniform. Since I
wore the same set of clothes every day, anything off from my
routine should’ve stood out to someone like James.
    Which led me to my super genius moment: I’d
been robbed in broad daylight.
    I barely remembered how I ended my call with
James, maybe I’d mumbled thanks or something, but I did recall
racing down my driveway—in low-heels and all—to reach the road. My
gaze quickly went to the ground. Then my nose went to the air. All
the clues should be here waiting for me.
    While I scanned the grass and surrounding
tree line, my brain chewed on ideas. I paced back and forth, trying
to wrap my head around what could’ve happened. A small branch broke
in the distance, drawing my eye—but it was nothing but a large
bird. The whole forest had a bunch of wildlife. Even the fragrant
pine and ash trees would’ve been a delight to visitors, but to me
they were an olfactory distraction.
    As I walked, I approached a familiar large
rock. The sight of it stirred memories in my mind. The dark gray
stone—about the size of a head—reminded me of the “for sale” sign
that had leaned against it five years ago. The grass had been
overgrown back then, but I’d ignored it. At the time, I’d been
steadfast for a new start. That included a new job as a clerk at
the Bend of the River Flea Market, or The Bends as the locals
called it. I worked day-to-day for a goblin boss named Bill,
selling antiques to finicky supernatural creatures along the
Parkway.
    All of those things, including my new home,
were a way to forget about the man who haunted my past.
    The task at hand attacked me like a horsefly.
Dwelling on what I did with my life after I got kicked out of the
pack wouldn’t help me find the package.
    First of all, whoever did this knew I’d been
expecting a package. Second, it had to be a supernatural, someone
with the ability to alter how they looked. A glamour, or
appearance-altering spell, could be thrown about by most
forest-dwelling creatures such as brownies, goblins, and the like.
Sure, those magical troublemakers operated businesses around here,
but a few of them made mischief whenever possible.
    All of this meant another werewolf didn’t do
this. A lingering scent confirmed my suspicions. It flowed around
my nose, damp and heavy like rich moss sprinkled with a metallic
smell. A distinct one at that. A pair of tracks revealed someone
with tennis shoes. My size, no doubt. Whoever did this had waited
in the grass by the road and strolled right up to it. From there,
the shoes walked twenty feet and then somehow shrank down a bit.
The trail led southward.
    For a split-second, I was tempted to discard
my shoes and track them on foot. That’s what any other werewolf
would do. But I didn’t operate that way, nor would I even entertain
that idea, no matter how much I wanted that box. The very idea of
ruining my pantyhose was enough to make me get in my car. With my
options limited, I rolled down the window and hoped my prey wasn’t
far away.
    * * *
    The trail took me south beyond South Toms
River toward the deeper woods. Jakes Branch County Park loomed to
the west with the town of Beachwood to the east. Most of the pack
ran here during the full moon as wolves.
    When the scent began to dissipate, I pulled
off to the side of the road. All around me was nothing but trees. I
peered through the brush, hoping for a building or some structure.
With none nearby, the obvious question came to mind: How badly did
I want that box? (A lot.) Did I want it enough to go into the
forest? (Damn right, I paid a pretty penny for expedited shipping,
too.) All the while, my fingers tapped against the steering wheel.
Having an obsessive-compulsive disorder really messed with me at
times. Especially right now. The compulsion to stay clean nipped at
me, while the wolf inside grew excited over the prospects of a
hunt. It had