Wolf for Hire

Chapter Thirty Seven

I mentally reached out toward Elmo, checking him for any signs of pain or injury. He was unhurt. Tired, but no indication he'd been harmed.

In fact, I got the distinct impression he liked it in here: inside the extra-dimensional pocket space of Eugene's magic jacket. It was warm, quiet, and snug. And after a long night of adventure, the guy was a little tuckered out.

I couldn't blame him. Hell, curling up in a pocket sounded like a damn good idea right now. And, burying my head in a pillow would be far more comfortable than burying it in the sand.

I didn't want to think about the decision I'd Godfather'd myself into. But now I had to make a choice I could neither refuse nor ignore.

So I sat there, with the jacket over my head, secretly hoping that Eugene wouldn't be able to hear my thoughts. That I could have a moment to myself and a mental breakdown in private.

But alas, muffling my thoughts didn't mean a damn when the sound I made—half sigh, half scream, half husky tantrum—was clearly audible.

"Is... she okay? I think we broke her," I heard Eugene mutter to Nevermore. "Thought you said she'd be able to handle this?"

"Oh, cheer up," Nevermore replied breezily. "At least she doesn't have your gun anymore. Why don't you give her a little time and attend to your injuries and then we can finalize our terms? Your face is looking a little swollen."

I heard Eugene sigh and approach me.

"Hey, so while you're in there, can you grab my first aid kit? It's in the—"

I tossed the travel first aid kit toward Eugene. Same one I'd pilfered from him earlier.

"...Thanks," Eugene said after a pause. Then, "You okay in there?"

I wanted to tell him to fuck off. Growl at him or something. But what came out was more of a whine or a whimper.

He let me be.

Sure, I could've blamed it on the stress. Or the fact that I hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep over the past three days. Perhaps all I needed was a little rest. Then I'd be as right as rain.

But the truth was, that wasn't going to change anything.

This—whatever this was—was going to keep happening. Month after month. Until I broke.

Like, really broke. Had a full-blown mental snap and just went full dog.

Being a human was hard. And being an adult was even harder.

And didn't we all, at one time or another, dream of being a dog in an upper-middle-class family? One with a nice house, good food, a yard and kids to play with? Just eat, sleep, play, repeat.

A luxury akin to heaven. A luxury I did not have, or think I ever would have.

For me, even the act of getting a good night's sleep would only mean that I'd have the mental faculties to realize just how deep a hole I was in.

The consequences of not thinking ahead.

But maybe that was being too hard on myself. In my defense, it was hard to plan for the future when the only thing waiting for me was a growing pile of debt, a cramped and empty apartment, bland food, and failed expectations.

Just more hours of work to scrape by, only staying afloat and never moving forward. And for what?

My career wasn't going anywhere. It was deteriorating.

And it wasn't just the whole werewolf thing, either. I'd spent years building a skillset in accounting that the world didn't seem to need anymore. Watching as everything shifted under me, as AI did everything faster, cheaper, and with fewer and fewer errors.

Hell, TurboTax was still a garbage service, but people were still dropping their accountants and flocking to it.

And now? Now I'd stumbled into a version of the world I hadn't even known existed. A magical one, with its own layered rules and bureaucracy.

Layers I couldn't understand. Couldn't even see. Not directly.

As if the normal world wasn't overwhelming all by itself.

I can't do this.

In my mind, I relinquished control, offering it back to the wolf.

Werewolf take the wheel.

I wasn't supposed to be out here—scavenging food, fighting enthralled dogs, locking horns with someone who was basically a magical bounty hunter. I was supposed to be home. Balancing checkbooks. Reviewing tax codes. Helping people save for retirement.

I didn't belong in this world. Neither did the wolf, for that matter.

But what the wolf had that I lacked was the ability to commit. To make a decision and follow through.

And that was what I needed now. Not analysis. Not doubt. Just action.

Like exercise, investing, or even dieting, it was often the case, any plan was better than no plan. You just needed to commit to something and stick with it.

But I always seemed to rationalize my way out of making a decision. Sure, I was hired to help others make informed financial choices, but when it came to myself, I was a cobbler whose checkbooks were never balanced.

I was well aware that I was stuck in a state of perpetual decline, because, deep down, I found the repetition familiar and comforting. Clinging to a tiny fragment of the world that I once had some semblance of control over.

I knew this. But knowing was only half the battle.

I still had to act. Still had to follow through.

Needed to think more like the wolf.

But the seat I'd vacated for her remained empty.

Instead, I could feel her gaze watching me. Waiting for me.

You know what you need to do, the wolf seemed to say.

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But I'm an accountant, not a wolf.

Together, we can be both.

The wolf, despite her eyes, her ears, her nose, couldn't see things the way I could. But even if she couldn't see the big picture, she saw what mattered. Now that her mind wasn't clouded by petty jealousy, she could see the importance of working with the cologned man. And, she knew that I needed to be the one to work with him—apt to bite the hand she should shake.

But she also knew when one of her pack needed comfort.

Because she didn't scold me. Instead, her thoughts—when they reached me—weren't judgmental. They were gentle. Warm. Curling around me like an embrace.

Just as I had done for her, during those early nights, back when the moon was just beginning to wax—when the wolf had been little more than instinct and emotion. A restless pup. Confused and terrified of the world outside my apartment walls.

I'd calmed her—wrapped her in my presence until she settled down to sleep. And while I might have kept her inside longer than she would have liked, she'd never been alone.

I'd always been with her.

Now it was her turn to be there for me.

She circled me like I was her shivering packmate, wrapping me in her presence.

A quiet reminder that I wasn't alone either.

That even though she needed me to be in control, she wasn't leaving me out in the cold. She'd be by my side, watching, waiting.

When the time came that I needed her—actually needed her—she'd be there.

A nose poked through the opening as Boden crawled up under the jacket, settling into my lap, joining me in the pocket space. His head followed soon after, pressing up against my chin and neck.

I rested my head atop his for a moment, stroking him. "All of this headache to find you, and I still can't find myself to be mad at you."

What compelled you to do all this? I wondered.

The thought Boden sent smelled of cheeseburgers.

Figured.

I closed my eyes for a moment to enjoy the company.

There was a soft pop, and another dog joined us—Coy, still holding Eugene's wand in his jaws. He crawled up from deeper within the pocket space.

So the pocket was open to Coy's teleportation? Seemed like a dangerous vulnerability. Or was it because I was currently holding the space open?

Did magical clothing come with user manuals? Hell, warranties?

Regardless, I now had two noses in my face.

Boden decided he wanted to join Coy fully inside and started climbing his way in, unceremoniously using me as a stepping stool.

"No, no—don't let him in there," Eugene said, alarmed. "He's going to get fur everywhere."

He tugged at the jacket collar, pulling it off me to reveal my face. Elmo, still resting on my forehead, chose that moment to skitter toward Eugene's hand—being that he was an arboreal tarantula and Eugene's head held a higher vantage point.

Up was the way to go.

Eugene jerked back, dropping the jacket like he'd touched a live wire. "Jesus Christ. Why?"

The jacket fell into my lap, swallowing the rest of Boden and allowing him to slip all the way inside. His weight vanished as soon as he did.

Upon my mental instruction, Elmo crawled down my arm, back into one of the other pockets—his previous space now occupied by two rowdy dogs.

Fortunately, there were plenty of others.

"Wait—don't let him back in!" Eugene protested.

I looked up. "And why not?"

"Because it's my jacket. I don't want a massive tarantula in my jacket."

I shrugged. "Well, if we're going to work together, I need a safe place to keep him. Just for now at least."

Eugene pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand not currently wrapped in a bag of frozen blueberries, then ran his fingers through his hair.

"Fine. Sure. Why not?"

He sounded frustrated. I could see that he'd re-bandaged his injured hand with a splint, and the other bore the addition of band-aids. His face, too, was dotted with them.

As for his nose, he'd packed the cavity with cotton wads. No gauze or bridge tape like in the movies. Those were just for aesthetics after all.

"Well, since we are all in agreement, allow me to officiate the process," Nevermore interjected, his voice a little smug. "I've hashed out the details with Desmond, and we'll use my intentions to shape the pact."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's allowed? Isn't you being my familiar a conflict of interest?"

"Not at all," Nevermore responded. "A sufficiently competent familiar can always act on behalf of their master in matters like these—when permission is granted, of course. And consider this: our bond, accidental though it may be, binds me to act in your best interest. So best to let me be your advocate."

I frowned. "Are you even qualified?"

"I could rattle off the list of times I served Ellenore in similar duties," Nevermore said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself, "but I don't feel like it. Instead, I'll simply ask you to consider your other options."

He cocked his head. "You could represent yourself. But we all know what happened to Socrates. Besides, I've handled so many pacts and covenants I have most of them memorized."

As Nevermore talked, I dug deeper into the back pocket of the jacket, tracing the lip of the opening and feeling out the smaller compartments tucked just inside.

If there was a logic to this setup—if this was really Eugene's sleeping pocket, a home away from home—then he'd likely keep certain essentials close.

I reached around, relying on feel more than anything, and my fingers brushed against exactly what I'd hoped for.

A pack of bath wipes.

"Score," I whispered.

I tore the bag open and started rubbing myself down, dragging the cloth across my arms and neck. The grime of the night—dumpster filth, mystery goo, bird droppings—had layered itself into my fur. I wasn't about to show up to any magical contract discussions smelling like an actual garbage heap.

"Hey, those are mine," Eugene said, finally noticing what I was doing.

"Sorry, but I'm requisitioning these," I said, not even pausing. "Consider it part of our pact. Or do you really want me to keep smelling like a landfill?"

Eugene merely grumbled.

I kept scrubbing, trying to reach my back with limited success.

"Wait," I said, glancing at him. "You have magic. Don't suppose you've got a spell that can clean someone off?"

"No," he said flatly. "Not one that works safely. Yet."

Figures, I thought. Wouldn't smell like the inside of a gym bag soaked in cologne if you did."

"I heard that."

A thought occurred to me. "Hey, why don't you use that Fantasia magic of yours on the wipes? Animate them to give me a hand. Speed things up a bit."

He eyed me. "Thought you didn't like me casting spells on you."

"Those weren't consensual," I said. "Now I'm asking. Nicely."

He arched an eyebrow. "Nicely?"

I held up the pack. "Please. I just need help with my back."

Eugene closed his eyes and took a deep breath before finally saying, "fine. Just hold the pack up for a second."

I did as instructed.

He reached for his staff, propped against the side of the Bronco, and pointed it toward me.

I felt a pressure gathering—subtle at first, then growing, the air around the staff beginning to hum. Though, it was a sound I felt more than heard. The signature of magic.

"Eklaboru," he commanded.

The pressure condensed around the pack I was holding, and at least half a dozen wipes shot from the pack and began scrubbing my back like invisible hands had taken over.

I would have thought a spell like this would have taken longer to construct. Perhaps the spell was actually shaped within the mind, and the word was just the trigger.

Eugene turned back to Nevermore, keeping hold of the staff.

"Ah, look at you two," Nevermore said. "Already working together. This is much—"

"Gah!" I yelped as two wipes slid into my ears. "What the hell! I said just my back!"

I yanked them out, but two more darted in. I grabbed those as well, but the spell only replaced them with more from the pack.

It was like being ganged up on by the lickers—I didn't have enough hands to defend myself.

"Specifics are tricky," Eugene said over his shoulder. "Takes too much effort to fine-tune. So, I programmed it to target any dirty areas you missed. More efficient this way. And more thorough."

I covered my ears, stopping the intruders, but they switched targets and began scrubbing under my arms—a ticklish spot. I squeezed my arms down tight.

"Son of a bitch! I knew you'd pull shit like this."

"And yet you still asked," he muttered under his breath.

"They usually start at the top and work their way down," he added. "Should give you time to handle most of it yourself."

I cursed and started scrubbing the places I didn't want the wipes exploring.

"Glad to see you two building a professional relationship," Nevermore said dryly.

"Baby wipes, baby steps," Eugene replied. "At least she'll be clean. Whereas, earlier, she had Boden lick me down."

He glanced at me. "Besides, she didn't even ask before helping herself to my things."

"I take it you have siblings," Nevermore commented.