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“What for?” The kid asked warily, a package of hotdogs in his hands.
“The crazy idiot who built this house did so with invaders in mind. This was his doomsday retreat in the woods. Or did you think that turret was merely decorative?”
The kid looked up. “I didn’t think.”
Aiden chuckled.
“What are we gonna do?” Buck asked. “Your wolf won’t win if the whole pack comes. And all the hunting rifles are locked up in the main cabin.”
“I’m not gonna shoot your father,” Aiden said, lamenting Buck’s lack of creativity and missing Goldie with every fiber of his being. “There are other projectiles in the world.”
The first light of inspiration lit the kid’s eyes. “Cool.”
Aiden froze. “Just not the books. Don’t touch the books.”
Buck held up his hands. “Everything but the books?”
Aiden cracked his knuckles. “You better believe it.”
The wolf rumbled within him. The beast wanted to crack its knuckles.
You’ll get your chance.
He headed for the kitchen and stopped short.Not to eat anyone. You won’t have a chance at all. Zero chances for you.
The only reason he didn’t face an internal mutiny is that the wolf didn’t believe him. At all.
He headed toward the pantry, trying to think through a plan. “Don’t eat those.”
Buck froze with a hot dog halfway to his mouth. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s just that I don’t remember buying them.” He opened the fridge and dug into the drawer for a wrapped steak.
His wolf howled mournfully as he handed it to Buck.
He opened his pantry, looking for ideas. Goldie had looted the molasses, but there were tons of other options. It was complicated because the barriers had to work in both directions. If the wolf got even the slightest opening, they were all dead.
“Let’s get started.”
He turned back to see Buck holding an empty butcher wrapper, swallowing spastically. “Sure thing.”
Moments later, he heard the beat of hooves.
He froze. Nathan had said he would return the next morning, so his son had a proper chance to commit murder.
It was way too soon.
18
Goldie flicked the light on in her apartment. She’d rented this garage from the local highway patrolman when her business had taken off. The mother-in-law suite tucked into the top corner of the garage was only seven hundred square feet, but the space below was huge. She looked through the interior windows down into her workshop. The half-finished dresser she’d been working on the day before she disappeared still sat surrounded by drop cloths and jars of paint. She wondered what the two kids from the local high school she paid to do her refinishing work had done for most of the fall semester. She wondered what her family had told them.
She pivoted from the windows and meandered to the fridge in the corner. The apartment was one big room aside from a stall for the toilet in the corner. She opened the little appliance nervously but found someone had come in and cleaned out the perishables. Currently, she had containers of mustard, sauerkraut, soy sauce, and chili paste.
“So they at least thought I’d come back before sauerkraut expires.” Did sauerkraut expire? Or did it just become more krauty?
She dug a bag of popcorn out of the cupboard and put it in the microwave.
She was numb, but she knew that was a mirage. She was furious, heartbroken, and angry. Which was the same as being furious. She needed a damn writer to get her some more synonyms.
