"It looks lovely, Mrs. Maxwell."

"Oh, please call me Julia."

Jaylin's mother fiddled the oven mitts from her fingers and set them down on the kitchen counter. It was beyond Jaylin how they had fit four people in their tiny kitchen, let alone how they managed to cram so much food on a table sized for a single person.

Above all else, what Jaylinfailed to understand most was why a couple so clean and immaculate were seated across from him in his home. His cluttered, tiny hobbit hole of a home. His mother had gone as far as scrubbing the stains from five year's thanksgiving past off of the tile floor, but the place still looked and felt like a dump. This was no place for people like these—people who dressed like they made six figures a year and actually did something important for a living.

There was a woman on the left. Flora, she had introduced herself as. She was cute—Jaylin thought so the second she'd walked in. She had small shoulders, green almond eyes, and a chic blonde hair cut that cut straight along her nape but curled and swirled and bobbed in a way that softened her. Her dress was low cut—too low, and her bust popped proudly from the v-shaped gap in the neck. Jaylin had been ripping up pieces of napkin and rolling them into little snowballs to stop himself from staring.

Clasping her hand was her husband, Eduardo, who Jaylin found was just as difficult to keep his eyes off of. He was tan—darker than Quentin, with thick brows, a deep crease in his cheek when he smiled, and a Spanish accent that rumbled his tongue with every R he came across. He was looking to Flora like there were stars in the emeralds of her eyes. "We apologize for not bringing dessert as we promised, Flora took a little longer than expected."

"Oh hush." Flora pushed her hand to her nose and blushed. "I was eager to impress. But yes, thank you for having us Julia. I know this was sudden."

"It couldn't have come at a better time!" Jaylin's mother said, throwing an arm around her son. She pulled him into a hug so tight it hurt. "Jaylin, these people have a surprise for you."

Jaylin took his eyes off the charred chicken on his plate and looked to the young couple. Flora had her lips pursed tight, Eduardo with an arm scarfing her shoulders.

"Jaylin, my husband and I are volunteers for a program that works to give the underprivileged a secondary education. With your mother's medical status and your family's annual income, and considering your extracurricular activities in high school, you were one of the top contenders on our list."

Eduardo butted in, giving Flora's shoulder a squeeze, "We want to send you to college. Tuition free. All you need to do is work for us. Part time, of course. Consider it a work-study."

Jaylin stopped chewing on his food. He stopped trying to squeeze his way out of his mother's hug, and just stared. "I don't get it," he said finally. "What do extracurriculars have to do with anything? My grades were shit in high school."

His mother smacked him on the back and Jaylin choking on the dry chicken in his mouth. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Jaylin."

"We're looking for someone with the passion to learn, not the ability to read and take tests well," Flora said. "You were on the soccer team in high school, correct?"

Jaylin nodded.

Eduardo joined in, "Then you tried art, then orchestra. Swimming, key club, FFA. You had no prior experience with any of this, but you wanted to try. You wanted to learn, that's why you caught our eye."

Jaylin wanted to butt in. He wanted to object, to explain that he only joined so many extracurriculars because it meant skipping those clubs, running off to meet Tyler at the park two blocks away. It meant his mother never questioning where he was when he didn't show up back home until eight in the afternoon.

But Jaylin shut his mouth and forked the food on his plate. After that, Flora and Eduardo fell deeply engrossed in conversation about their charity work. How it fulfilled them. How rewarding it was.

"We'll keep in touch," they said, after plates were emptied and sweaters were buttoned. "We're excited to work with you."

After they took their leave, Jaylin sat on the bench beside the honeysuckle shrubs while his mother dug about in the dirt with high hopes of nursing her sunflowers back to life. They'd flourished during summer but she was determined to find a way to keep those giant plants prospering. The sun was sinking down beyond the tips of neighborhood trees, and the surging fall temperatures would force her back into the house soon enough.

"I want you to look, sweetheart. Just consider it," she said, wiping her sweat on her forearm.

She was talking about school. She hadn't stopped talking about school since dinner.

Jaylin sat in silence, watching an aphid scurry across the petals of a honeysuckle. Over summer, they'd crusted the shrubs that separated his home from the neighbors. The Parks lived there now. A sweet, childless Korean couple who bought the place up with the intention to flip it and sell it. But the Parks never left. Said they loved the neighborhood. Jaylin couldn't understand what there possibly was to love about living in a cul-de-sac with scrap collectors just next door and sixty-four-year-old Judith Crow on the corner, always revving up her motorcycle into the late hours of the night.

"They've obviously got the money, dear," she said, and he could hear the shink of her trowel as she stabbed at the soil. "If it makes them happy, why not?"

Jaylin didn't reply. He'd never been interested in college before now—but then, before now, it wasn't a possibility.

He looked beyond the honeysuckle bushes to the flat trim of fresh-mowed lawn next door. The Parks had cleaned up the place. Turned it into a white-picket fence dream. But Jaylin remembered what it was like before. He remembered the empty beer cans on the lawn, the sound of beating metal in the garage. He remembered the eighties rock, screaming from the stereo in the window and he remembered Tyler whipping the cord from the lawn mower, releasing. Pulling again and releasing, until sweat stuck to his skin like morning dew.

He remembered the smell of fresh cut grass and the feel of tools beneath his knees. He remembered Tyler's hands in his hair while they hid behind the old corvette he swore he'd fix up one day. Jaylin remembered being sixteen years old and vulnerable, and Tyler's voice in his ears, quiet behind the sound of the radio.

"It's okay. I won't tell anyone. And you won't tell anyone, right?"

He needed to get out of this place. Away from this neighborhood, away from the smell of fresh cut grass and the ghosts of Tyler. Maybe a college education was his ticket out.

Then something sparked in Jaylin's throat and he fell into a coughing fit that felt like an eternity to escape. He hunched over and choked into the crook of his elbow, the cool autumn air cutting into him like razer blades.

"Oh honey," he heard his mother said. When he looked to her, she was pushing herself to her feet. "Let's get inside before you catch a cold."

Jaylin took one last look at the honeysuckles and wished they'd die with the rest of the garden.

-

That night, Jaylin huddled under a blanket in the dim light of his computer monitor, tossing back throat lozenges and huffing vapor rub until he couldn't breathe through his nose. 

Sick as he felt, the first major exam of the school year had come and gone and books were flooding in like a locust storm. Each one had to be assessed for damage and re-entered into the system as returned. His hands were stiff and sore, his eyes stinging from the unnaturally blue hue of the computer screen, but this job meant he wasn't flipping burgers and cleaning shitters for ten bucks an hour. A night off wasn't worth the risk.

Jaylin pushed himself out of his seat and stretched his arms out, elbow folded over his head. He could hear the soft snores coming from the lounge chair in the center aisle, where Sadie had fallen asleep after promising him company for the night. Jaylin loved his friends, appreciated the protection, but he'd felt smothered over the past few months. It was like they all feared Bobby would come back from the dead and finish what he'd started at the cemetery.

If it wasn't Tisper bringing him donuts and coffee, it was Sadie sitting on his desk, peering over his computer screen as if there was anything interesting to see other than book titles and barcode numbers. And if it wasn't Sadie, it was Matt, walking in on him taking a piss and staggering out with a laugh, a sorry and a brief comment about his manhood.

It looked like for the first time all day, he'd finally have a moment to himself. Himself and the pile of books that only seemed to grow the longer he chiseled away at them. Jaylin sighed and flicked one off of the pile with a frown. He turned to take a snack break but halted when he recognized the book that sat beneath.

Jaylin pressed a finger to the cover, ran it down the impressions in the leather. It felt as if the title had been carved with a knife, the pelt ridged around the edges. "Medicinal Herbs", it read. A small illustration of a lavender flower had been dug into the leather just beneath. It was worn and fading, decades old at least.

He hadn't looked at it properly when it was in Quentin's hands, but Jaylin was sure this was the same book. He remembered the small Celtic moon symbol on the spine. He must have returned it sometime in the day.

Jaylin flipped the first page over to a word in garish cursive. One he couldn't read. Maybe it was in a different language or maybe the writing was just illegible, but it felt like he was staring into visual gibberish. Then Jaylin dug his nail into the thick stack or pages, flipped somewhere towards the center. The writing was different now. A recipe for tea, in neat printed English. On the next page over, the writing was different again. The next was written in red ink, the next in pencil. It wasn't a recipe book but a communal journal that Quentin had borrowed.

Every page looked different than the next and Jaylin was hypnotized by the wall of notes and tiny illustrations that cluttered every new canvas. Some of them so sloppy he couldn't read, others so beautiful he wished he could frame them and hang them from the walls. He was searching for the last page, curious to see if perhaps Quentin had logged his own research. But then Jaylin heard a hum. A low, angry rattle that made his heart tighten in his chest. He clutched the book tight and turned slowly to the sound.

First, he saw the tail, wrapped around the side of the chair where Sadie slept. White and bristly, it scraped against the hardwood with a silent grace. Then he heard the tap... tap... tap... Like Tisper's nails, he thought. Just like Tisper's nails.

Jaylin pushed himself back against the counter, his heart a heavy bass in his ears. He watched the wolf's head emerge from the other side of the lounge chair. He'd never seen anything so green as the eyes that gazed into him now. It was a dark night out, not a speck in the sky—and yet somehow in this dusky, dim place, those eyes burned bright like lanterns.

It looked at him, blinked slowly. Then the black slits in its green eyes rolled to the side. It was staring at Sadie now, watching her sleep. Observing the way she curled into the arm of the chair like a tuckered child.

"Don't," Jaylin whispered. He didn't know he'd even made a sound until the wolf turned its head to look at him. "Don't," he said again.

Then the wolf rose on its back haunches, long, crescent claws sinking into the arm of the chair. It pulled its body up, slinking along the backrest. The shift woke Sadie, who groaned sleepily and rubbed at her eyes.

"Jay?" she said when she caught the frightful look on his face.

Jaylin shook his head, watching the wolf as it took a whiff of her hair. It was like a burst of hard air had hit her. Sadie tensed and Jaylin watched its jowls curl, muzzle folding back into a wild snarl. The whites of its eyes glared in the dark. It began to rumble with a deep growl, shoulders rigid, head hung low. It neared her slowly, thunderous noises rippling from its throat. Then it let out a huff of air and Sadie ducked in fear.

At her reaction, it sprung. Jaws open wide, the wolf struck forward and Sadie let out a frightened screech.

With all his strength, Jaylin threw the book in his hands.

Square in the eyes, he hit the wolf, who tumbled from the chair with a yelp. Jaylin didn't look back to see if the move alone had frightened the beast off. He was already on his feet. "Run!"

Sadie shoved herself from the chair, knocked the coffee table askew. She was sprinting down the aisle, and Jaylin was just behind. He couldn't see the wolf, but he could hear it, nails scraping against the hardwood, slipping and struggling to find purchase.

They turned the bend between bookcases, slipping on the sleek wooden floorboards. Sadie slid, her feet coming out from under her. Jaylin caught her by the arm before she could go tumbling to the ground. God why did he clean the floors? Should have just left the dirt and grime. Should have woken Sadie. Should have sent her home.

They turned a sharp corner. He skidded on the flats of his shoes and Sadie caught him by the collar. "Jaylin, what the hell is going on?"

"I don't know. Just go!"

They were charging through the center aisle, nearly to the checkout desk. Then suddenly, Jaylin was staring into yellow. The front doors were wide open, the stormy night shaking them at the hinges. And walking patiently towards him was a sheen of black fur, and two eyes—bright, bold yellow like twin moons.

"Jaylin!" Sadie cried, hands trembling as they squeezed onto his arm.

The black wolf was stalking closer, teeth bared white, chomps curled and quivering. Then it lunged.

"Move!" Jaylin shoved Sadie towards the checkout desk where she staggered back and knocked over the books that had piled up. She clamored up onto the desk, pulling Jaylin up by the arm—as if gaining a measly three feet of height would somehow ward the wolves away. But when Jaylin turned around, Sadie's arms choking him tight, the yellow eyes weren't on him.

They were on the white wolf, who had started to creep backward, head low to the ground and warbling with a noise Jaylin could only decipher as fear. It was far smaller in size than the black wolf, and it seemed consciously aware that it would be no victor in this battle. For every step forward the black wolf took, the white slunk back another.

"Jaylin, what's going on?" Sadie whispered, her fingers still frightened claws in his arm.

"I don't know."

The fur on the white wolf had raised, bristling up its spine. It backed itself into a corner, knocking against the shelf behind it. Jaylin had never looked into the face of a wolf and seen fear. Not until it was in front of him, crouched so low to the floor, it looked like only a skinned pelt.

It was in that moment, when the white wolf realized its fate, that the black wolf surged forward.

It was a flash of black and white, a bout of yipping and snarling. The two moved so fast, Jaylin couldn't see what was happening. He could just hear the awful caterwauls; pained and angry, screams of an anguished beast. Then somewhere on the white, Jaylin saw red. The black wolf had taken the white into its jaws and it was thrashing its head—shaking back and forth, back and forth. Pained cries ricocheted from the library walls, shrill in Jaylin's ears.

Then there was another sound.

"Felix. Enough."

The black wolf swung its head to the door, where a shape cut the light from the street lamps. Bowing its head to the ground, the black wolf unhinged his jaws, spat its enemy out like a bad taste. The white wolf laid wounded at his haunches, chest rising and falling but never daring to move. Jaylin almost felt a pang of sympathy, watching it curl into itself.

But the black wolf didn't seem so satisfied. His mouth stretched open and he expelled a pathetic sound—a yawn or a whine or something in between.

"I told you no."

The doors slammed shut with a hollow sound, slicing out the groan of the storm. He'd been wearing a jacket soaked with rain, and the moment he shook the hood back, Jaylin felt something hot lump in his throat. There was no mistaking him. There was no mistaking someone like Quentin Bronx.

As he crossed the floor to them, the wolf simpered with a frustrated noise and Quentin shot him a look over his shoulder, shaking out the rain from his hair. "If you're going to be this way, go home."

The wolf he called Felix whimpered and folded down onto the ground with a gentle thud. He laid his head on the wood floor and licked the blood from his chops, but didn't make a sound after that.

"It's alright now. Come on." Quentin held out a hand, but Jaylin didn't quite know what to do with it. He was stuck to Sadie like Velcro, and it felt like every muscle in his body had turned to stone. Sadie was the first to let go. She reached forward and took his hand, and Quentin led her to the edge of the table and held both sides of her waist as she slipped down and gripped the desk for support.

"W-what's going on?" she sputtered, hugging herself tight across the chest. Her eyes stuck watchfully to the black wolf, but Jaylin was doing all he could not to look its way.

Quentin didn't answer. He was looking her over with narrowed brows. Jaylin couldn't figure out if it was recognition in Quentin's eyes or a different kind of intensity. Something fearful, maybe. What could he possibly have to fear from Sadie?

Whatever it was, it was gone just as quickly as it had come and he was holding a hand up to Jaylin with that smile on his face, rain drops slipping down his temples. "I think we've solved your rat problem."

Hesitantly he took his hand, and Quentin helped him down from the desk. Once he'd stepped foot on the ground, Jaylin was thankful he'd taken the liberty. He couldn't move. He was sure this was the same black wolf that had ripped out Bobby's throat. He was sure of it.

"Are you okay?" Quentin was asking. Only then did Jaylin realize he still had his arm in a death grip, clutching his bicep in a trembling vise.

"Yeah." He let go, but his legs felt like jello. Just as Sadie had, he held the desk for support.

Quentin scratched the back of his head, ran his hand over his broad neck and traversed the stubble on his jaw. With a deep sigh, he said, "I owe you an explanation."

Still stuck in his strange state of paralysis, another "yeah" was all Jaylin could manage.