Wolf for Hire

Chapter Sixteen

The
Meeting Street rail depot sat wedged between sprawling industrial lots
and cramped suburban streets, a liminal space where commerce met
concrete. The drive over had been smooth—eerily so. It was a Sunday,
sure, but with the Fourth of July approaching, Charleston had emptied
more than usual. Anyone with sense and the means to do so had fled to
the beaches, leaving the sweltering city to those who couldn't afford to
escape or simply had nowhere else to be.

This
wasn't the Charleston of glossy travel brochures or pastel-colored
postcards. This was the real Charleston—or at least, the vast majority
of it by square mile. The peninsula's historic charm was just a facade.
Beyond the curated cobblestone streets, the city stretched outward,
fueled by its growing medical district, tourism, and trade. Roads,
rails, warehouses, and depots tangled with tightly packed residential
neighborhoods, forming the true, unpolished sprawl.

It
was the kind of place where no one would blink at a woman walking her
dog along a tree-lined industrial park. Though, I'd likely turn heads
wearing what appeared to be a fur-lined jacket in the middle of July.

I
parked at the corner of Hedgewood, beside an empty lot overgrown with
weeds and littered with sun-bleached trash. Hooking Maggie to her leash,
I corralled Elmo back into my bag just as a faint pop announced Coy's arrival. He trotted up from the other side of the car, a leash dangling from his mouth.

Where he'd found the damn thing, I had no idea.

"Seriously?" I eyed him, unimpressed. "You've been roaming free all day. Does that not count as a walk?"

Coy
wagged his tail, eyes bright with manufactured innocence, his whole
demeanor light and carefree. But I wasn't fooled. I'd seen enough to
know better. Beneath his ridiculous, happy-go-lucky facade lurked
something smug, something scheming. Coy played dumb with the precision
of a con artist, and the worst part was, I couldn't help falling for it.

I was a sucker for a cute face.

Sighing, I took the leash from his mouth, clipping it to his collar, and then looped it over my wrist.

This
stretch of Meeting Street had no sidewalks, just narrow grassy
shoulders broken by cracked asphalt driveways. Across the road, a
tree-lined embankment shielded the depot behind a towering privacy
fence. I checked for traffic and started across with Maggie and Coy in
tow—just in time to dodge a delivery truck barreling through the
intersection like it had somewhere far more important to be than I did.

I
let Coy take the lead, expecting him to guide us straight to the spot
he'd flagged earlier. But after five minutes of weaving through patches
of dry grass and uneven terrain, we were no closer to our destination.

I frowned. Perhaps I'd parked farther away than I thought?

But
something felt off. Coy's focus wasn't on tracking. His tail swayed
with a little too much enthusiasm, his ears flicking as he took in the
breeze, the distant symphony of noises, the myriad of enticing scents
carried on the wind. This wasn't the single-minded determination of a
search—this was the simple, boundless joy of a dog on a walk.

"Coy," I said, eyeing him suspiciously. "We're not here for sightseeing."

Coy's nose was buried in a tuft of grass, utterly ignoring me.

I turned to Maggie, who at least had the decency to acknowledge my existence.

"Are we even going the right way?"

Maggie flicked an ear, her posture stiff with exasperation. No.

I sighed. "Unbelievable."

Maggie
let out a small huff, and I got the distinct impression she was just as
annoyed with Coy as I was. Unfortunately, that didn't mean she wasn't
going to take advantage of the situation. A walk was a walk.

Coy lifted his leg against a bush with exaggerated nonchalance. Immediately, Maggie began sniffing around for a spot of her own.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Maggie glanced up at me as if to say: If he gets a bathroom break, so do I.

I
pinched the bridge of my nose, inhaling deeply before exhaling even
slower. "Fine. Five more minutes. Then we get back to work."

They
took their time, sniffing, circling, and meticulously selecting their
designated targets. I stood there in the oppressive heat, panting like
an idiot, feeling less like a serious investigator and more like a
begrudging chaperone.

Then again, I didn't have to pretend to be walking dogs anymore.

When
they finally finished their little detour, Coy trotted back toward the
road, his leash dragging lazily in the grass. Maggie fell into step
beside me, and we trudged after him.

Five more minutes of walking, and we arrived back at my parked car—then continued past it.

Coy had led us in the complete opposite direction.

I
shot him a look, but didn't argue. He led us into the tree line,
weaving through the underbrush until we reached the privacy fence
running along the depot's perimeter. Nestled at the base, partially
hidden by scraggly bushes and loose dirt, was a hole.

A very large hole.

Even
without my heightened senses, it was obvious. The paw prints in the
soil. The dark tufts of fur snagged on the jagged chain-link. The sheer
size of it.

This was Boden's handiwork.

Nevermore
flapped down, perching atop one of the fence posts where the rows of
barbed wire were anchored. His feathers ruffled slightly as he scanned
the depot's perimeter.

"Well,"
he murmured, "not much to see—shipping crates stacked two, sometimes
three high. A service road along the perimeter and some tracks just
beyond the fence. No security. No workers nearby. No sign of anything
particularly interesting."

I
glanced at the opaque plastic sheeting running the length of the fence,
blocking my view from this side. "Right. Thanks for the report."

Nevermore
clicked his beak, eyeing the hole. "Why dig under the fence here? Or at
all, for that matter? Did our wayward friend perhaps smell something
particularly delectable?"

I shook my head. "No. Boden wasn't trying to get in. Dirt's piled up on the other side. He was leaving.""Ah, of course."

I
ran my fingers through the loose dirt. "If Coy's right about where the
trail leads, that means he must have entered from the other side—from
the direction of the Veneer Depot."

Nevermore tilted his head. "So, do we know where he went after?"

"Coy says his trail follows Meeting Street, then merges onto Durant Avenue into Park Circle."

"Coy can read street signs now?"

I rolled my eyes. "No. I just know those roads. Used to deliver DoorDash around Park Circle and the nearby neighborhoods."

Nevermore's feathers fluffed, his amusement mild but apparent. "How convenient."

"It
was a job," I said flatly. "And yeah, that's where we're headed next,
but first I want to see what Boden was up to in there." I cracked my
knuckles and crouched beside the opening. "Keep an eye out for me, would

you?"

Without
waiting for a reply, I dropped onto my hands and knees and wriggled
through the gap. The dry dirt clung to my turtleneck and pants as I
pulled myself through, emerging rather ungracefully on the other side.
Coy was already there, sniffing around like I was the one taking too long. Maggie followed close behind, her nose twitching at the layers of scent hanging in the air.

The
southern end of the storage depot stretched before us. Rows of empty
shipping containers lay scattered across the gravel lot, their exteriors
bleached and rust-streaked from years under the sun. Beyond them, a
dense patch of undeveloped woods pressed against the perimeter, a
utility road snaking through the trees.

Between
the privacy fence and the lot, a pair of train tracks cut through the
landscape—the same tracks Nevermore had mentioned. These tracks branched
off from the main CSX line about half a mile north, then continued
southward, converging with several other lines that carved their way
down the spine of the Charleston peninsula before terminating at the
ports along the Cooper River.

I
bolted across the tracks, the dogs keeping pace, and slipped into the
shade of the thicket of trees at the southern end of the depot. The air
was thick with the scent of vegetation, laced with the faint tang of
diesel and iron. But beneath that, something else caught my attention.

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A scent—familiar and distinct.

I slowed, inhaling carefully. Ralph Lauren cologne. The same one from before.

My stomach tightened. The man from the Veneer Depot had been here too.

And Boden had followed him.

Pushing
through the underbrush, we emerged into a dilapidated parking lot,
half-swallowed by nature. Cracks in the pavement had given way to weeds
and goosegrass, slowly annexing the space back into the wild. The
weathered benches and rusted lamp posts suggested it had once been a
public space—probably a small park for the nearby subdivision before the
CSX Intermodal, or maybe the Charleston Port Authority, expanded their
footprint.

Now, it was little more than a leftover convenience, an informal parking lot for the employees.

"Maggie, Coy," I gestured toward the rest of the depot, "see where Boden's trail leads."

Maggie
took off without hesitation, nose to the ground. Coy trotted after her
at a leisurely pace, his entire demeanor suggesting he'd get to it when
he got to it. I had a feeling they'd turn up more of the same—Boden
tailing the cologned man, the man combing the depot.

Still, I wanted confirmation.

Left
alone, I wandered toward the rusting waste bin near the lot's edge. A
discarded can sat at the top. I plucked it free, turning it over in my
hands—a Java Monster energy drink—the Mean Bean flavor.

Lifting it to my nose, I sniffed.

Cologne.

Nevermore
landed atop a bent lamppost, watching me with what could only be
described as amusement. "Tell me, does this piece of trash inspire any
great revelations?"

I
exhaled through my nose, already irritated. "A guy who drinks this
probably doesn't make the best life decisions. That, or he's pulling an
all-nighter."

"Perhaps both," Nevermore mused.

Sighing,
I sank onto a weathered bench and peeled off my socks. The sticky
fabric resisted, clinging to my skin before finally peeling free. I
tossed them to the far side of the bench alongside my shoes, then tucked
my hands under my knees, swinging my feet slightly to air them out. It
was impossible to think clearly when my feet felt like they were
marinating in their own misery.

Opening
my bag, I brought out Elmo and placed him on my head—preemptive damage
control. I still wanted nothing to do with him, but if I had to spend
the day with his company, I'd rather not spend it with my blood pressure
through the roof.

Exposure therapy.

"So," I muttered, glancing up at Nevermore, "I don't think this guy's a thief anymore."

Nevermore tilted his head. "Oh? And what led you to this sudden realization?"

I
gestured toward the trash can. "Boden ate that sandwich back at Veneer,
yeah? But this guy didn't just drop his trash on the ground. He carried
it over to a waste bin and threw it away—same with this can. That's…
weirdly conscientious for someone cutting through fences."

Nevermore ruffled his feathers. "Perhaps he fancies himself a gentleman criminal?"

"More
like someone trying to keep a low profile," I said, tossing the can
back into the bin. "Maggie placed him here around two in the morning.
He's drinking a Monster, poking around in shipping containers—but
doesn't even bother with the equipment or vehicles."

"Ah," Nevermore said, intrigued. "A stakeout, then?"

"Either
that or he was looking for something," I replied, rubbing the bridge of
my nose. "Maggie traced his scent across most of the Veneer depot. I
suspect we'll find the same here. I think he was looking for something
stashed in one of the containers. Maybe a drop site. Could be drugs—or
something else."

Nevermore
fluttered down to a lower branch, considering. "Could he be law
enforcement? Trying to follow up on a tip? You know, like a drug bust."

I snorted. "Hardly. He cut the fence back at Veneer. Doesn't exactly scream badge material."

"But it could
suggest a private detective," Nevermore countered. "It wouldn't be
unusual for one of them to operate in the gray areas of the law. That
might explain his methods—questionable, but not outright malicious."

"Maybe,"
I admitted. "It would explain how he knew about this parking lot. It's
not visible from the road, and, unless you've been here before, you
wouldn't think to take the utility road to reach it. Someone had to tell
him about this place."

Nevermore nodded. "Which means he has an informant. And possibly a lead worth following."

I scoffed. "As if."

Nevermore fluffed his feathers. "Ah, but I like mysteries. Do you really want nothing to do with him?"

"Nope." I shook my head. "Not my problem. I'm here for Boden, not to stick my hand into a possible wasp's nest."

"That's assuming Boden followed him just because the man fed him. And were he a regular dog, I'd be inclined to agree. But Boden's not a regular dog, now is he?"

I
sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah… that part doesn't sit right
with me either. Too coincidental. But if Boden's magic quirk is somehow
involved, that's all the more reason to stay out of our mystery man's
business."

I
stretched my legs, brushing the dirt off my soles before sliding my
socks back on with a grimace. Scooping up Elmo, I placed him back in my
bag.

Nevermore eyed me for a long moment before hopping back onto the lamppost. "So what now?"

I
laced up my shoes. "Coy said Boden's trail continues up Durant, which

means he was headed toward Park Circle. That's where we're going next."

I
waited for Maggie and Coy to return, idly bouncing my heels against the
bench as my socks continued their slow, damp redemption in the warm
air. When the dogs finally trotted back, Maggie confirmed what I already
suspected—our cologned mystery man had searched through multiple
containers before heading back to his car, with Boden in pursuit to
parts unknown.

With
that, we slipped back out through Boden's hole, and made our way to the
car. I started the engine and pulled onto the road, heading toward Park
Circle.

I
pulled into the Park Circle Community Center lot, slipping into a tight
space just as the previous occupant backed out. True to its name, Park
Circle sat at the heart of a perfect wheel—an expansive green space
ringed by a circular road of the same name, with streets radiating
outward like the spokes of a giant dartboard. The surrounding suburb was
neatly divided into eighths, each slice a quiet neighborhood branching
from the center.

The
park itself buzzed with life. Children's laughter rang from the
playground, mingling with the rhythmic creak of swings and the squeak of
sneakers on the basketball court. The nearby dog park hummed with
energy—a chorus of excited yips, play-growls, and the rustling of paws
kicking up loose dirt.

Maggie
wagged her tail eagerly as I clipped on her leash, her enthusiasm more
pronounced than usual. A flicker of nostalgia hit me—this had been one
of Sandy's regular stops, a treat for the dogs when they'd been
particularly well-behaved.

Coy,
for once, chose to stay at my side instead of vanishing to parts
unknown. Whether it was the familiar surroundings or the promise of
fresh distractions, he seemed content to stick close. But maybe he just
preferred company from time to time.

We
made our way to a cluster of water fountains near the main path. The
fixture had three spigots: one for adults, one for kids, and one at
ankle height for dogs. I pressed the foot pedal, and Maggie ducked her
head to drink, lapping at the cool stream. Coy followed suit, though
with considerably less dignity, unaware that his head was directly in
the stream.

I
bent to take a drink myself, letting the cold water soothe the dry rasp
in my throat. As I straightened, Nevermore fluttered down, landing
gracefully on the edge of the fountain. His black eyes gleamed with
amusement.

"Care if I join you?" he asked, tilting his head, then body, into the stream of water, as if it were a bird bath.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, glancing around.

"Relax."
He fluffed his feathers, shaking off droplets of water. "No one is
close enough to hear us. Besides, you're already drawing attention in
your own way."

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've
been panting ever since you stepped out of the car," he noted, entirely
too pleased with himself. "Quite the sight, really."

"It's not as if I can stop," I muttered. "I'd keel over from heat stroke if I did."

Nevermore let out a soft chuckle. "Never imagined lycanthropy to have so many… peculiarities."

I scowled. "Says the bird bathing in a water fountain."

"Which,"
he said, fluffing his wings and sending a fine mist of water onto the
pavement, "is a perfectly normal behavior for a bird."

I rolled my eyes and stepped away, heading toward the community center.

Nevermore
shook out his wings before taking to the air, circling high before
settling in a small tree near the building's entrance. He took a
deliberately roundabout route, aiming to appear unremarkable—just
another bird finding a perch.

Except that this bird was a raven, which meant he did draw attention. A few onlookers paused to snap pictures of him, their focus fixed on the striking sight.

Meanwhile, I—a woman panting like a dog and wrapped in what appeared to be a fur coat—drew none at all.

As
I approached the notice board outside the center, I scanned the pinned
flyers, my eyes skimming over the usual jumble of community events, lost
pets, and service ads. Pulling out my phone, I scanned the QR code
leading to the center's Facebook page. Might as well check if anyone had
posted about Boden.

Nevermore's voice drifted softly from the tree behind me. "Is it unusual to see so many missing dog flyers?"

I
frowned, glancing around to make sure no one could hear us before
replying. "Not really. It's almost the Fourth of July—people are
probably already lighting fireworks. Happens every year. Pets freak out
and run off."

"Mm." Nevermore didn't sound convinced. "And Boden?"

I shook my head. "Nothing."

As
the page loaded, I scrolled through the latest posts. More missing
pets—mostly dogs. The sheer number made my stomach tighten.

I hesitated, then exhaled. "Okay, I'll admit, it's a little weird."

"Only a little?"

"Yeah, but it's not our problem," I muttered, tucking my phone away. "Let's go."

We
left the park, heading south in the direction Coy had last picked up
Boden's trail. I kept to the edge of the sidewalk, steering clear of
joggers and other dog walkers. The less anyone noticed me, the better.
Nevermore flew ahead, doubling back every so often, a dark silhouette
against the bright afternoon sky.

For
someone who used to be a person, he made a damn convincing bird. The
way he banked smoothly on the wind, perched without hesitation, and
preened with effortless ease—it all looked natural. Maybe it was. Maybe
being stuck in that body for so long had chipped away at whoever he'd
once been.

The thought was amusing at first. Until it wasn't.

If that could happen to Nevermore, what did it mean for me?

I'd
had to believe myself to be a wolf in human skin to prevent my body
from trying transformation back into a normal human. A palliative trick
to mitigate the fact that I didn't yet have the strength to properly
transform without help.

Deep down, I knew who I was, that I was just pretending.

But sometimes I forgot.

Sometimes the sensation of fur beneath my clothes, the shape of my teeth, the steady rhythm of panting—it all felt natural.

Perfectly normal.

Would
there come a day when I stopped thinking of myself as a person? When
the instincts stopped feeling like intrusions and just became... me?

I
glanced down at Maggie and Coy trotting ahead, their ears swiveling,
noses sorting through the layered scents of the neighborhood. Their
tails wagged, and they, for all intents and purposes, seemed rather
content with everything.

I
suppose that if the day ever came where I stop being myself, I
hopefully wouldn't be as stressed as I was now.

Not a bad consolation
prize when you thought about it.