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“Is this your tactful way of avoiding budget duty?”
He chuckled. “To be honest, I forgot about that. I can swing by now if that works for you. I’ll bring the sleep log with me.”
“I’ll be waiting.” I hung up the phone and went to the fridge to forage a snack before the werewolf’s arrival. Never a dull moment in Fairhaven.
I stared out the kitchen window as I ate a cluster of grapes. Nana Pratt was in the patch, bent over a pumpkin. I was fairly certain she was attempting to roll it. Ray appeared next to her, no doubt offering encouraging words. They were beginning to make a pretty good team, too. Who would’ve guessed?
The prickling sensation on my arms alerted me to West’s arrival. I finished the last grape and tossed the stems in the trashcan on my way to answer the door.
The werewolf wore his trademark T-shirt and jeans. No coat.
“Aren’t you chilly in short sleeves?”
He gave me an odd look. “When did you become Aunt Val? Next, you’ll hurry me in before I catch my death.”
I held open the door in silence. He smirked as he brushed past me.
“Did you have any issues last night?” I asked, heading to the kitchen. It was the only comfortable room in the house apart from my bedroom. One of these days I’d remedy that, but today was not that day.
“The only one staggering around sleepy eyed this morning was Henry, but he went on a bender at Monk’s last night.”
“I guess that’s good news.”
“Not for Henry. His hangover is one for the record books.”
“How much did he drink?” It took a lot more than a few beers to intoxicate a werewolf. Their systems were designed to withstand the effects of alcohol. I assumed it was a protective measure—the universe didn’t want out-of-control werewolves. Nobody did.
“They stopped counting at twenty.”
I perched on the edge of the counter. “Why didn’t they stop the drinking instead?”
He grimaced. “They found him too entertaining.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“There’s apparently now a Henry-shaped hole in the men’s room door.” He paused. “Which the pack will replace, in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” I knew West would do the right thing. He was as earnest as Kane was… I quickly turned off the thought faucet. The demon should be out of sight, out of mind.
West brandished a sheet of paper. “Here’s the log.”
I studied the notes. “Huh. Nobody remembers their dreams.”
“I noticed that. Think it’s relevant?”
“Probably. It’s statistically unlikely that they’d all forget. There should be at least one of them who remembers at least a snippet of a dream.” But they all described the same experience of a nothingness. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
“Does this help you at all?”
“It might. Let me think about it.” There were multiple reasons the affected werewolves might not recall their dreams. I could think of several spells, and as many creatures.
“Where are your spreadsheets?” he asked. “Might as well take a look while I’m standing in your kitchen.”
I walked over to the computer and logged into my bank account. “It’ll take a minute. The Internet is slow, when it works at all.”
“It’s your location.”
“I know, but there’s nothing I can do about that.” For better or worse, the Castle was mine.
