Chapter Text
JACK'S LIST OF THINGS TO AVOID IF AT ALL POSSIBLE FEATURED ONE ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE-TO-AVOID THING.
Every twenty-nine days the moon completed its cycle, having marched through the eight phases of new, waxing crescent, first quarter, waxing gibbous, full, waning gibbous, third quarter, and waning crescent.
He'd learned that sequence in werewolf day care, where it was given the same import as learning shapes or letters or how not to blunder into traffic.
To be fair, it did control the werewolf existence. And how ridiculous was it that a celestial object 238,900 miles from Earth could wield that kind of influence on an entire species? But just as its gravitation pulled the tides, something in that white glow pulled a beast from inside him. It was the one night he truly lost control-not just in the panicked way of his brain trying to fight itself, but real, physical control.
It terrified him.
He stood at the window, hands braced on either side of the frame and fingers tapping agitatedly as he glowered at the rosy sunset. He should be working late at the Emporium, but since he didn't want to transform into an animal with fangs and impulse control issues in a room full of fragile plants and terra-cotta pots, he'd come home to prepare. Once moonrise was thirty minutes away, he'd get in his car and head into the thick forest north of town. It was emptier than the woods on the hills rising to the east of Dreamney Falls, which housed the area's famous hot springs and were frequented by visitors at all hours.
If Jack was going to end up rolling around in mud, persecuting the local wildlife, and shamelessly scratching his balls, he would rather do so far away from witnesses.
"Will you shift soon?" Elsa asked from behind him.
He cringed. It had been less than twenty-four hours since the Masturbation Incident, and going on past experience, it would take at least twenty-four years to get over an embarrassment of that magnitude. The previous night he'd tossed and turned, having added "accidental public masturbation" to the litany of sins that ran through his head at 2 a.m.
"Unfortunately," he muttered. Lycaon, why was he like this?
Other werewolves loved the moonshift, which made this one more thing that was wrong with Jack.
He looked over his shoulder in time to see Elsa plop onto the couch and cross her legs beneath her. Her notebook was open on the coffee table next to her tablet, the pages filled with bold scribbles about her upcoming performance. Having already overstepped massively, Jack had diligently avoided looking at her brainstorming notes.
"How's prep for the show going?" he asked. "Do you need anything?"
"A cloak and something colorful to wear underneath it," she said.
Right. Performers generally needed costumes. "Sorry, I should have thought about that." He held out his hand. "May I have your tablet for a moment? I can log you in to my account so you can buy whatever you need online."
She looked intrigued. "Anything I need?"
He hesitated. "Anything you need under a budget of, say ...one hundred dollars?"
She laughed outright at that. "Please, Jack. How much could a cloak cost, five dollars?" She handed the tablet over. "I can't imagine going over that budget, but I promise I won't."
Clothing prices had increased since the 1960s, but Jack trusted her to keep her word. He logged into an all-purpose online retailer and then walked her through how to search, put things in the cart, and check out.
A familiar tingle started beneath his skin-the itchy feel of his wolf-self rousing in anticipation of the full moon. Thirty minutes to go. He handed the tablet back, then hurried to the front door.
"I'm heading out," he said. "I can't operate a cell phone while in wolf form, so if there's an emergency, please call 911."
She nodded, already immersed in online shopping. "Good luck," she said distractedly.
Jack hurried to the car. He needed to get to his normal shifting place in time to strip naked, otherwise his clothes would be shredded. While he had an emergency backup shirt and pants in the back of the SUV, he'd rather not destroy these ones. Public nudity was on the list of things Jack would prefer not to engage in, but after a few mishaps as a teenager-werewolves started shifting during adolescence-he'd learned to get naked beforehand.
Traffic was heavier than usual, and his fingers drummed over the steering wheel while his left foot tapped a staccato beat. "Come on," he said, eyeing the clock. He had the exact time of moonrise memorized, but he also felt it coming in the tightening of his skin.
Shifting into a wolf inside his car would be unfortunate.
Thankfully, traffic eased, and soon he was speeding out of town on a narrow road that wound into the trees. Pines and western red cedars clustered close, and the air was crisp and fresh through the lowered window. September was a liminal month-hot on some days, with cool nights that would lengthen into a cold, dark winter.
At his usual pullout, Jack parked, then hiked into the woods.
He stripped next to a stream, folding his clothes and placing them on a rock. Then he closed his eyes and waited.
A cool, shivery sensation raced over his exposed skin. It was followed by heat and the sound of bones grinding as his body rearranged itself. Shifting didn't hurt, but it was strange and uncomfortable. There was an element of body horror to seeing his skin stretch over a new form before growing thick brown fur, so he kept his eyes squeezed shut. His face narrowed and elongated, nose becoming a snout and teeth sharpening. When he could no longer stand on two legs, he dropped to four paws.
Jack opened his eyes to a new world. Colors were no longer so vibrant, but he could detect the faintest quiver of leaves overhead.
The wind carried the scent of earth and running water, along with a whiff of fresh scat and broken stems where a prey animal had passed. His stomach rumbled. The evening's stir-fry hadn't filled the ache, and saliva pooled as he identified the scent of rabbit.
No, came the distant protest of his human self. Not the rabbits!
Jack whuffed and bounded into the underbrush, wolven instinct drowning out thought. His muscles bunched and lengthened in turn as he ran, and the moon brushed his fur with its silvery caress.
A mouse skittered over the root of a tree, and Jack's jaws closed on it before he processed the urge. It was a small mouthful, but the meat whetted his appetite. He crunched the tiny bones and spat out the tail, then kept running.
Alive. Hungry. Wild.
The rabbit posed no challenge. It was dead in an instant, neck snapped, and then Jack settled under the sheltering branches of a bush to consume his prey. Faint distress lay behind his delight at the taste, but it was impossible to focus on anything but the filling of his stomach.
A distant howl echoed over the hills-a werewolf calling for others to join the hunt. He cocked his head, listening, then returned his attention to the rabbit. He was a loner by instinct, and he had no desire to leave his territory.
Jack paused to scratch himself with his hind leg, then rubbed against a tree to mark it with his scent. This was his patch of land, no one else's, and every month he marked the perimeter to keep it safe. His land, his trees, his stream, his rabbits.
Jack ran for hours, pausing only to mark trees and howl at the fat white moon overhead. His muscles burned, and the air came crisp and sharp in his lungs. He met no other wolves, just one startled midnight hiker who shrieked at the sight of him. Jack bared his teeth and stared the man down, raising a leg and pissing on a stump right then and there to indicate his thoughts on having his territory breached. The man backed away sweating, then turned and ran.
Good.
Jack howled his triumph at having driven off the intruder, then padded to the nearby stream. He jumped in, sending water splashing, then rolled around, letting the current carry away the dirt from his coat and the blood from his muzzle. Then he stood with his paws on the rocky bottom and drank.
Belly full of meat and water, Jack flopped on the bank of the stream for a few minutes. The forest moved and chattered around him, ever alive. His head felt empty and full at once-thoughts came distant and more in images than words, but the impulse to movement pressed on the inside of his skull. Despite the tiredness of his limbs, he pushed back to his feet and loped off again.
Hours passed like this. So long as the moon was high in the sky, its energy lent him strength. But eventually it began its retreat, and Jack returned to where he had started, feeling tired and cold.
He curled up next to his clothes with his tail covering his nose, wishing someone was there to wrap him in a blanket instead.
When Jack woke, he was human-shaped, naked, and absolutely freezing. The sky overhead held the deep navy hue of the silent hour before dawn, and wind whipped the treetops. He staggered upright, cursing as he tugged his clothes back on with cold, clumsy fingers.
Rational thought returned in a rush, like the dam constraining it had crumbled, and he was flooded with the knowledge of what he'd done all night. One mouse and two rabbits had fallen to his fangs, and his mouth had a nasty coppery aftertaste. He groaned, covering his face as he remembered aggressively pissing in front of the stranger he'd startled. Christ, he hoped that wasn't one of his customers. Reason said even if he was, the man wouldn't recognize Jack's wolf form, but panic said every horrible thing was possible.
He stuffed his feet into shoes, then staggered toward the car. It took a few minutes with the engine on and heater blasting to warm him up after his nap on the cold ground. His eyes were bleary and his head throbbed, and Jack white-knuckled the wheel as he drove back into town.
Once home, he tiptoed toward the bathroom for a much-needed shower and toothbrushing. His sense of smell was good even in human form, though, and when Elsa's uniquely luscious scent wafted down the hallway, he stopped in his tracks.
Hot, lustful blood surged, stiffening his cock, and he had a brief vision of flinging Elsa over his shoulder and carrying her off to ravish her in the woods. Jack closed his eyes with his hand on the doorknob, struggling with the sudden impulse. It's the moon, he told himself. The moon makes you aggressive and out of control. It would take hours for the final effects of it to fade.
Lycaon, he wanted Elsa.
But Jack wanted all sorts of things he couldn't have: a calm mind, a billion dollars, an extra five or six hours in each day. A future that involved no more public urination or dismembered rabbits.
And Elsa deserved better than a self-loathing werewolf.
So he shook his head and headed into the bathroom, wishing shame washed away as easily as dirt.
🩸🩸🩸
JACK DID NOT SEEM HAPPY AFTER THE MOONSHIFT.
Elsa perched on the kitchen counter, shoving handfuls of cereal into her mouth. Jack had made a sour face when he'd entered the kitchen that morning, rubbing his stomach and saying he was regrettably full, and though he'd offered to make her breakfast, Elsa had declined. She liked the way he cooked eggs, but she disliked being seen as needy. Plus, he looked very glum.
She'd heard him return in the dark hours of the morning and had been curious enough to rouse from bed and crack open the bedroom door to peek at him. He'd been covered in dirt and leaves, his face lined with exhaustion. He'd stopped outside the bathroom, hand on the knob, and she'd wondered if he'd sensed her presence. His energy had flooded with enough lust to make her catch her breath, but he'd just shaken his head and entered the bathroom, so Elsa had forced herself to return to bed.
She'd sensed the carnal beast beneath his skin on that first day, when she'd tasted his blood. There was a wildness to him that he took great pains to conceal. But why? And why was he so unhappy this morning? The werewolves she'd met over the centuries loved shifting. It was the highlight of the month, a chance to be utterly free.
"Hey," he said, poking his head around the doorframe. "I'm heading to work. Do you need anything?"
His eyes were reddened, with shadows beneath them. She cocked her head. "You don't look fit for work."
He squinted at her. "Gee, thanks." His gaze shifted to the box of cereal. "You know, people normally pour cereal into a bowl and eat it with a spoon."
Elsa hopped off the counter, casting the box aside. "Did you not enjoy the moonshift?"
He made a face. "I don't like shifting."
Curious, she stepped closer, eyeing him from head to toe. He had the typical burly werewolf build, complete with a thick head of hair reminiscent of a pelt, but maybe he wasn't a full-blood werewolf. "Are you a hybrid?" she asked.
"What?"
"I thought werewolves liked shifting. But if you aren't a full-blood werewolf, maybe you take after another species." Like how she took after her vampire sire more than her succubus mother, even though she had traits of both.
His shoulders slumped, and he looked more tired than before.
Elsa felt a twinge of regret at having asked so bluntly. "No," he said quietly, "I'm not a hybrid. I just don't like it. It wastes so much time, and.." He bit his lip, hesitating.
"And?" she prompted.
"I already feel out of control," he said, tapping his temple with a forefinger. "On a bad day I can spiral and it's like I have no control over my thoughts or emotions. Shifting is like that. All of a sudden I'm in a new form, feeling all these powerful instincts, and I have no say in it."
Surprisingly, that made perfect sense to Elsa. "You don't get a choice whether or not you shift," she said. "It just happens to you." Like being ordered around just happened to Elsa, and she had no say in the matter.
Maybe they had more in common than she'd realized.
Jack nodded. "It's also so undignified. There's all that scratching and howling and ..... well, urges."
The pregnant pause and subsequent embarrassed look intrigued her. "What sort of urges?"
He looked even more embarrassed as he scratched the back of his neck. "Well, ah, wolves are very primal. So anything in that category. Eating, fighting..... other stuff."
Her succubus instincts honed in on that subtext. "Do you fuck as a wolf?"
The blunt question had him hiding his face in his hands. "No!
Some people do, but I don't like the idea of it. But some of that animalistic energy lingers after I shift back, and it translates into ... and it's embarrassing, you know? I have to take a cold shower and meditate to get back to normal. If I can ever be called normal." Aha. That explained the sudden surge of lust when he'd arrived home, if not what had sparked it. His bestial instincts lingered past the physical transformation.
Elsa wasn't ashamed of sexual desires. People throughout history had been driven to find food, water, and shelter, and many of them pursued sex just as instinctively. Jack was no different.
"You don't need to be ashamed of having carnal urges," she said.
He winced. "Can we please stop talking about my carnal urges?" It wasn't an order, but Elsa respected the boundary. "Of course."
"Thank you." There was a pause while he chewed his lip, and then he blurted, "And then there are the animals."
"The animals?" she asked, not following.
"I ate two rabbits and a mouse this time," he said glumly. "Last month it was only one rabbit."
"You don't like hunting?"
He rocked on his heels, back and forth and back and forth. "No, I do not. I thought I ate enough stir-fry beforehand to fill me up, but then a rabbit hopped in my path and.." His gesture implied helplessness.
Disliking hunting was an unusual werewolf trait, but it sounded like a classic considerate Jackson Overland trait. This glimpse beneath his surface was intriguing. "Is there anything you do like about shifting?"
He ran a hand over his face. "What's with the interrogation?" His tone was rarely so snappish. Elsa didn't want to push too far, but she was hungry to know more about the wolf she was trapped with. "I've only met a few werewolves before. I'm curious." He exhaled gustily. "Of course you are. I'm sorry, I'm in a bad mood this morning."
"Bad moods are normal," she said. "I have them all the time."
"Yeah, well, you definitely have more reason for them than I do." His mouth tipped up slightly. "Being able to see, smell, and hear better is interesting, and I do like running around and exploring. There's something freeing about it, and it's nice to take a break from my thoughts. But it's also like being a totally different person. I couldn't balance a checkbook as a wolf if I tried."
Elsa had encountered checkbooks in 1969. An object that small ought to be easily balanced on a snout or paw, but perhaps he was uncoordinated in wolf form. She wouldn't insult him by suggesting so, though. "So you like being free and active," she said,"but you don't like killing the things you eat or temporarily being worse at business. That makes sense."
"Does it, though?"
She sensed Jack's veins dilating as he blushed. He was embarrassed when he had no need to be. "I don't like draining people to death either," she said, offering a slice of kinship to him.
His eyes widened and he took a half step back. "You drink people to death?"
"Only when the witch orders me to," she hurried to clarify, disliking how he was looking at her. "Or ordered, rather." Past tense. It was still strange to think she was free of that foul woman.
"Normally feeding is a consensual arrangement both parties are happy with, and no one dies."
"Huh." He opened his mouth as if to ask a question, then closed it again and looked at his watch. "Shoot. I need to get going. Do you need anything before I leave? The Annex opening is Friday night." As if she could forget. There was nothing left to shop for-her costume had been ordered with overnight shipping and would arrive later that day-but she could use more time in the space.
"Can you take me with you? I've been corresponding via internet with the theatre students, but I would like to meet them and investigate the stage and lighting in person." Jack had put her in touch with two high school thespians who were eager to gain technical experience, and they'd been writing back and forth about Elsa's music choice, the props she needed, and how the scene would be lit. Everything was arranged, but she would feel better if there was a chance to speak with the students in person beforehand.
Jack slapped a hand to his forehead. "Of course. I'm so sorry, I should have thought of that earlier." He dug his phone out of his pocket and started typing. "Penelope and Melody have theatre for fourth period, so I'm asking the teacher if they can come by to help out."
Elsa nodded. "Thank you."
"Thank you," he said fervently. "You're really saving me here."
Then he gave her a soft, crooked smile that made Elsa's heart flutter in appreciation. Now that she no longer despised him-and since he'd fed her so well with his orgasm in the shower-she could appreciate how handsome he was without blaming it on hunger.
"And thanks for listening. Most people don't understand how I feel about shifting." He shook his head. "Actually, I haven't even talked to anyone about it in years."
That meant he trusted her with both his secret and his embarrassment. Elsa's heart did another giddy little dance. Feeling daring, she brushed his fingers with her own. "I am grateful you shared with me."
A spark seemed to jump between them at the touch. Jack's pupils dilated, and Elsa caught her breath. They stood close to-gether, fingers barely grazing as silence stretched between them.
Elsa inhaled his scent, gaze tracing from the warm brown of his irises over the bold line of his nose and down to his mouth. His lips were full and pink. She wondered how he used them in the bedroom-if they were always gentle, or if he let some of the beast out in private. She wondered if his beard would feel soft or coarse against her inner thighs.
She wondered what it would be like to take blood from the throbbing pulse at the side of his throat and what his moan of pleasure would feel like against her tongue.
She listed forward... just as Jack cleared his throat and stepped back. "Let's get going," he said, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes danced away from hers. "We've only got a few days left to prepare for your theatrical debut."
Elsa followed him to the car, this time wondering at the depth of disappointment she'd felt when he pulled away.
🩸🩸🩸
JACK'S PLANT EMPORIUM WAS PACKED FOR THE OPENING EVENT ON FRIDAY NIGHT.
Between the people browsing the plant selections and those gathering next door at the Annex to sample coffee, tea, wine, beer, and a range of pastries and sandwiches, they were nearing full occupancy.
A great problem to have, but Jack was about to sweat through his dress shirt, and his body was torn between extremes. His pulse raced and nausea gripped his stomach, but the thrill of seeing people turn out filled his chest with sparking fireworks of excitement. He manned the plant counter himself for the first hour before turning it over to Merida so he could circulate among the guests.
"Heck of a place you've got here," his cousin Avram said, slapping his back. The tall, good-natured werewolf lived in nearby Fable Farms, and since the two of them were the same age, they'd grown up together. Avram's thick brown hair matched Jack's and they both had the Overland jawline, Avram's sparkling hazel eyes and easy smile were all definitly Overland. The odd fairly unique nose shaped Avram has was all Frost.
"Thank you," Jack said. "It's been a lot of work. It's hard to believe it's actually happening."
He looked at the venue with pride. He'd knocked down a section of wall between the nursery and the adjoining building so people could circulate freely, and the windows and roof beams were festooned with white holiday lights. The overall aesthetic was warm, homey, and handmade, with a rustic bartop and furniture commissioned from the same carpenter who had constructed the stage. Local artisans had provided woven rugs, pillows for cozy seating nooks, and art to adorn the walls, and he'd built display cases for them to sell their work. The local elementary schoolers had a corner display full of colorfully painted terra-cotta plant pots for purchase-maybe Jack's favorite detail, since a customer could walk out with a plant and a one-of-a-kind adorable piece of art, and a small child would end up thrilled as a result.
"The sandwiches are amazing," Avram said. "I had the turkey pesto and.." He kissed his fingers. Then he spotted someone over Jack's shoulder and waved. "Oi, Aster! Get over here and tell Jack how amazing this place is."
Aster was a good friend and another member of the Fable Farms pack. A transplant from Australia, the charming brown-haired werewolf also captained the Fable Farms Furies rugby team. With a roguish smile, a primal love of the moonshift, and an incredible amount of self-confidence, he was the quintessential werewolf Jack often wished he could be.
"This is ace," Aster said, joining the group. "Amazing job, mate. What do you think, Tooth?"
Speaking of an incredible amount of self-confidence, Aster had his arm around a short, beautiful blonde-his girlfriend of the past two years, Toothiana. Her black horns were smaller than her son Kristoff's and she might not look physically imposing, but if Jack had to bet on anyone in a fight, it would always be the Mother of All Demons.
Tonight the demoness's smile was eerily wide, and her pale purple eyes had an unfocused look that meant she was probably a million miles away, thinking of heavens only knew what. Her attire was, as usual, vaguely piratical, and she had an actual cutlass strapped to her hip. "I tried to eat a cactus," she announced.
Jack blinked, then looked over his shoulder at the plant nursery portion of the store. Merida was standing at the counter, shaking her head as she cradled a pot containing a small barrel cactus. Catching Jack's gaze, the naiad rolled her eyes, pointed at Toothiana, and mimed gnawing on the plant.
"The plants aren't for consumption," Jack said, returning his attention to Toothiana. "The only food is in this half of the shop." Toothiana pouted. "So I was informed. But what's the point of immortality if you only eat safe things?"
Jack wasn't sure how to respond to that. He had his own temperamental, odd, immortal-ish platinum blonde to deal with, but Elsa was of sound mind-though traumatized-and he was no longer afraid she'd eat his liver. Toothiana was a stick of dynamite no one knew was lit until it went off. "That's an interesting perspective," Jack said cautiously.
Aster leaned in and winked. "That's why she likes me so much.
Not a safe bone in my body." He flexed, showing off his tattoos.
Avram snorted. "You're about as dangerous as a pillow fight, Aster."
Toothiana looked Aster up and down disdainfully. "Silly puppy. Are you due for a flogging?"
"Absolutely," Aster said, clapping a hand to his chest dramatically. "I live to tremble at your feet, my beautiful demoness."
"Jesus Christ," Avram muttered.
Toothiana's lips curved in a smile reminiscent of Kristoff's when he was feeling wicked, and she slapped Aster's ass. "Good wolf." Then she grabbed him by the belt buckle and dragged him away.
Aster tipped back his head and howled to the ceiling, then shot Jack a thumbs-up. "Back soon! Maybe!"
Jack shook his head as the pair vanished out the door. "Aster's a braver man than me."
Avram snorted again. He and Aster were the kind of friends who constantly took the piss out of each other. "He's been waiting for a pretty woman to walk all over him for ages. I just don't understand what Toothiana gets out of it."
"A willing and eager victim?" Jack suggested.
"Good point."
Thoughts of Toothiana receded as a stream of new guests descended on Jack to deliver congratulations. Somewhere amid the chaos, Anna pressed a glass of champagne into his hand, and then Tinkerbell insisted on taking interminable pictures of him with guests, plants, the wine rack, and an espresso machine manned by Hiccup, whom he'd poached from Le Chapeau Magique to manage the Annex and the new employees on that side of the business. Jack smiled gamely, following Tinkerbell's instructions.
He'd long ago learned that avoiding photos with the pixie was an impossible task and that no matter how awkward he felt, she'd somehow manage to come up with a brilliant, flattering image he could use for his website or text to his parents to elicit a flurry of delighted emojis.
Speaking of his parents, they had arrived with the latest throng of well-wishers.
"Jackson, I am so proud of you," his mother said, wrapping him in the best hug known to mankind. Even though he'd topped her five foot ten inches by half a foot twenty years ago, her warm embrace still made him feel cozy.
Jack was grabbed in a bear hug from the side, this time by someone nearly his height. "Atta boy," his father said, clapping his back. "You've done wonders with the place."
Jack grinned. "Thank you both so much. I'm glad you could make it."
His parents were a coordinated pair as always, wearing matching shades of blue. They were both over seventy but had the energy of people much younger. Mary Overland wore her silver hair in a ponytail, and her skin was creased with lines from a lifetime of smiling. Michael Overland had sun-coarsened cheeks from working in his garden and dramatically peaked eyebrows. Both of them were sturdy in the way of people who lived life hands-on, as eager to build a house for the needy as they were to cook a feast for the neighbors.
Some of Jack's tension relaxed at seeing them. Come heck or high water, his mother had always said, we Overlands stick together.
His parents were no longer as robust as they'd been in his youth-age was wearing its unwelcome way over them, leaving arthritis and stooped frames in its wake-but they still loomed large over Jack's existence. Introverted Jack might be an exotic species amid the rambunctious Overland-Frost, but Michael and Mary Overland's exuberant brand of love had been the bedrock he'd built a life upon.
"When's the performance?" his mother asked, looking around.
"Will there be singing?"
"I'm not sure," Jack said. "I gave her total creative freedom."
The least he could do after ordering Elsa to perform.
There was a hurried consultation between his parents, which they whispered at a volume he could absolutely hear. He braced himself for the coming interrogation.
"This is your supposedly not-girlfriend, right?" his father asked, not at all casually.
"She is not my girlfriend, that's correct."
"Kind of interesting, don't you think?" Michael mused, stroking his white-bearded chin. "You said the stage would be put in next year, and then suddenly you started calling in favors and paying extra for the builders to set it up early."
Damn this town's love of gossip. "I changed my mind about timing."
His dad cackled. "Yeah, just in time to host a pretty blonde's debut show." He clicked his tongue. "Don't think you can trick me. I was young once; I know how this goes."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Stop badgering me about my nonexistent love life and go find some champagne." Spotting one of the staff passing by with a tray of chicken wings, he pointed. "Free appetizers!"
"Free, you say?" His father was already on the move.
Mary Overland wasn't so easily distracted, though. She slapped Jack's arm lightly and gave him a reproving look. "You know your father can't resist free food."
"Exactly." It was Jack's trump card because it always worked.
She sighed. "We just want to see you happy."
"And I am happy," he said. At this moment, anyway. "So go eat and give me another hug later."
His mother popped up on her toes to kiss his cheek, then straightened his tie before joining her spouse.
Jack looked around, wondering if he could slip away for a breather. He was proud and excited to share the results of his hard work at long last, but this was also ... a lot.
Kristoff approached, holding out a small box. "Congratulations," he said.
Jack took it hesitantly, unsure what the half demon could possibly have brought him. Jack had gotten off to a rocky start with Eugene and demons in general, and though Kristoff was fun to hang out with, the two men were completely opposite in personality and taste.
Inside the box were silver cufflinks-a pair of beautiful, undoubtedly expensive full moons. Jack's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to smile and be appropriately grateful for a kind, thoughtful gesture. Kristoff couldn't know Jack didn't particularly love the full moon, since Jack was too embarrassed to tell people, and he probably thought every man had a suit in his closet just begging for fancy cufflinks. "These are incredible," Jack said, giving the demon a brief hug. "Thank you so much."
Kristoff nodded and tapped his skull-topped cane against his boot. If Anna was to be believed, it contained a sword. The apple didn't fall far from the tree when it came to Toothiana's offspring
"You're doing a good thing for this town," Kristoff said, brown eyes sweeping over the room. "People need more places to gather and feel welcome."
It was a surprising sentiment from the witty, sarcastic demon, who wielded words like both weapon and armor. But he'd softened considerably since meeting Anna and giving up his power-hungry ambitions as a member of the demonic high council, and he seemed earnest now.
"Thank you," Jack said. "I agree."
Then Kristoff popped on his charming grin and winked, raising his champagne. "And they always need more places to drink." Jack laughed and clinked his glass against Kristoff's.
"Cheers to that."
The music faded, and Emma stepped onto the stage, tapping the microphone. "Is this thing on?"
The microphone was, indeed, on. The speaker emitted a shrill squeal, and everyone winced.
Jack looked toward the soundboard, where one of the high school thespians was turning dials frantically. She gave a thumbs-up.
"Check check," Emma said. This time her voice was an appropriate volume, and the assembly cheered. "Great," Emma said, grinning. "And thank you, sound wizard. I have no idea what was wrong and I have no idea how you fixed it, but you are the hero of the evening." She clapped in the direction of the soundboard, and others followed suit until the girl was blushing.
Emma looked great. Her brown hair was put up in some kind of fancy knot that was presumably Tinkerbell's work, and she wore a pin-striped gray pantsuit with sparkles on the stripes, as well as Kristoff-mandated pink Converse. She looked professional with a fun, approachable edge.
"Isn't this space amazing?" Emma gestured around the room.
"I'm so proud of my brother, Jackson Overland, for not only killing it in his plant nursery business but expanding it to give people room to eat, drink, mingle, and watch live theatre. It's too easy to end up glued to our phones or laptops, working too hard and interacting with our loved ones from a distance." The room was silent, the audience hanging on every word. "Dreamney Falls is a rich, diverse community," Emma continued, "and spaces like Jack's Plant Emporium remind us of that. None of us are alone, and there are places where we are always welcome. So let's give it up for Jack!"
The guests applauded, turning appreciative smiles his way.
Jack bowed his head, feeling like his chest might burst from pride, assuming his flaming cheeks didn't kill him first. Emma had tried to convince him to make a speech, but he'd refused, instead letting Merida give a brief welcome earlier when he'd cut the ribbon between the Emporium and the Annex.
The curtain behind Emma shifted, drawing Jack's eye. The backstage space was laughably small-maybe two feet deep and spanning the width of the stage, with an access point through a former janitor's closet-so that must be Elsa, preparing for her show.
The attention thankfully moved away from Jack as Emma launched into a rousing speech about community, so he focused on the black velvet curtain. There was a slight gap on the right-left? He always forgot how stage directions worked-and he smiled when he saw a slice of pale face appear and vanish just as quickly.
Was Elsa nervous the way he'd been nervous about the Annex opening? He suspected the answer was yes, given how jumpy and brooding she'd acted all day, but he hadn't been about to ask or suggest such a thing. Funny, how quickly he'd come to understand her pride and some of her quirks, but becoming inadvertent roommates had provided them with a rapid education. Besides, Elsa was not a particularly subtle person.
"And that's why I'm running for mayor!"
Jack snapped back to attention when the room burst into a cacophony of cheers and applause. Emma was beaming under the spotlight. It was a very hastily assembled spotlight, manned by another high schooler from the Thespian Club, but the teen managed it with very few wobbles. Jack decided on the spot to offer the stage free to the high school as a place for students to gain experience and get comfortable with an audience.
The stage might not have become a staple of the Emporium and the Annex so quickly if it weren't for Elsa and Emma, but even with the added stress it had caused, Jack didn't mind. In fact, he was glad. He might never set foot on the boards, but he respected people who did, and he vowed that Jack's Plant Emporium would always be a place for fledgling creators-whether elementary school artists, high school theatre students, or aspiring comedians-to spread their wings safely.
As Emma detailed her goals for public office and the future of Dreamney Falls, Jack watched the crowd, assessing their reactions.
It was clear the room was in her thrall.
Jack had to admit it was impressive. He was used to thinking of Emma as his wild, social butterfly younger sister, but she presented herself and her campaign with a mix of wit and earnestness that would have had him sold even if he wasn't related to her. He would never in a million years be able to talk in front of people like that.
It wasn't that Jack hadn't known Emma was smart, funny, insightful, and on a mission to better their community, or that he in any way believed her incapable of changing the world. He loved her unconditionally, and no matter how much he razzed her (and she razzed him back, far more viciously and articulately), he had faith she would do whatever she set her mind to and the world would be better for it.
But this was still his little sister commanding the room. The girl who had insisted on wearing her favorite sequined shirt to elementary school for an entire month, claiming she was a world-famous pop star. The girl who, as a teenager, had driven her car into a fire hydrant because she'd been texting. The one who had needed to be picked up from a rave in college by their parents.
Watching Emma speak with articulate, inspiring passion, Jack felt a lump in his throat.
His little sister had grown up. And yes, he'd already known that, but still. This was something special.
When she finished her speech with "Let's get out the vote!" Jack hollered and clapped louder than anyone. And cried, too, sniffling and wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
"If you aren't registered to vote yet, go see the volunteers in the back," Emma said. "They'll be happy to help out. And if you feel like volunteering your time or skills for the campaign, Merida at the front desk has all the info." She grinned and swept out a hand.
"Now, we have a very exciting performance to christen the stage of Jack's Plant Emporium. Please welcome the world debut of actress Elsa Arendelle-Devereux!"
Cheers broke out, then faded with the lights as people hurried to claim available seats. The twinkle lights still shone on the outer windows, but the stage was a murky gray expanse. The curtain moved, and a female silhouette took center stage.
Jack clenched his fists, instinctively flexing his toes inside his dress shoes. This was the performance that would set the tone for the rest of the Emporium's performances. It would also give credence to Emma's campaign.
And yet the question currently top of his mind was ...
Was Elsa scared?
She had never performed before, though she'd told him she liked the idea. She also wasn't used to this time and place, and it didn't take a therapist to figure out she was dealing with PTSD on top of that. Though Elsa should probably see a therapist. Jack should, too. It had been a few years-he'd once gone regularly, hoping to corral his buzzing thoughts, but the business had become too demanding.
"You've got this," he said under his breath, gaze pinned on the shadowy figure onstage.
The stage lights came up.
Elsa stood at the microphone with a bucket by her side.
She wore a voluminous cloak, and the effect was eerie. Black cloak, porcelain-pale skin, shimmering blonde hair that had been combed in some sort of way to make it look tangled.
"In the beginning," Elsa said, raising a fist, "we were dust. Stardust, fallen to earth to mix with the baser elements and create life." She tipped her hand over and opened it, letting a fine spray of sand form a small pyramid on the stage. "When we die, we become dust, too."
Jack nodded. He'd heard that metaphor before, but it was a good poetic image and a fine start. Optimistic about the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. Thematically appropriate for electing a new mayor.
Elsa flung the rest of the sand away violently, and an audience member in the first row flailed at their face and started coughing. "Before we become dust, though," Elsa announced,"our corpses bloat and rot. We do not dissolve peacefully. Just as we crawled out of a primordial soup once, when our lives are ended, we ooze."
Jack nearly choked on his tongue. What in the name of-He looked around, terrified people were about to start fleeing for the exits.
Though a few audience members shifted and muttered to one another, they remained in their seats. For now, at least.
"When I was twenty one years of age many centuries ago," Elsa said quietly into the microphone, "a witch found me and chained my life to a crystal. My hands became hers. My words became hers. My free will became hers."
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, Jack told himself. There was something compelling about her intense, serious expression, something that demanded he lean forward and give her his full attention. The intro had been weird, but maybe that had been a fluke and this would be the bulk of the piece: a monologue about what Elsa had endured. It would make him sad and upset about her past and guilty about his ownership of the crystal, but he could handle it, and maybe other people would be moved by her story, too.
"She used my hands for killing her enemies, of course," Elsa said. "Have you ever watched the light leave a person's eyes?" She produced a musical triangle from a pocket in the cloak and struck it. Bing. "If you had, you would know it isn't a light at all. It's something that can only be defined by its absence."
Bing.
Bing.
Bing.
Jack scratched his neck and shifted from foot to foot. His pulse was speeding in a familiar and unpleasant way, and sweat beaded at his hairline. This hadn't gone completely off the rails yet, but it was getting close.
Elsa's face was solemn as she bent to stick her hand in the bucket. It came up coated in red liquid, which she dragged over her face, leaving finger streaks like something from a haunted house.
"Oh, no," Jack whispered.
"The true virtue of a killer," Elsa said into the microphone, eyes gone wide, "is in what they're willing to watch. Our mortal shells are mere sacks of meat, ripe for the slaughter, and there is nothing beautiful in death. During my years of servitude my hands were not my own, but my eyes were, and I can tell you now..." She paused dramatically before a vicious whisper left her red lips. "I watched."
Jack's stomach dropped-or rather, continued the trajectory it had begun when she'd first thrown sand in some poor customer's face. He could sense Emma's eyes burning into him from where she stood at the back of the crowd. When his sister started heading his way, he knew he was in deep trouble.
Elsa suddenly beamed. "And now," she said, throwing off the cloak to reveal a rainbow-sequined jumpsuit, "an interpretive dance!"
Music piped in from the speakers, loud and sudden enough to make him jump. Was that... "Barbie Girl" by Aqua?
Yes. Yes, it was, and Elsa was now capering around the stage, smearing bloody handprints over her jumpsuit. She'd produced a knife from somewhere and was holding it clenched between her teeth as she flailed and spun. The audience stared silently, faces frozen in a range of expressions, shock and horror chief among them, though an ancient woman in the front row was beaming and bopping her head in time with the beat.
"Hey, Jack," Emma said way too casually when she reached his side. "Quick question: What the fuck is this?"
Onstage, Elsa began acting out the dramatic stabbing of invisible enemies, periodically pausing to strike the triangle and make odd, warbling vocalizations. Jack felt faint. "I ... have no idea."
It's experimental, visceral, and dynamic, Elsa had told him when he'd asked about her planned show. Think Joan Jonas meets Ana Mendieta with shades of Isadora Duncan and Kesha. Not knowing who those people were, he'd nodded and told her that sounded good. She'd clearly done the research, after all.
He really should have looked up those names.
"This is .." Emma flinched as Elsa howled and poured the remaining liquid in the bucket over her head. "Jesus fuck."
That about summed it up. At least Jack's sensitive werewolf nose could tell the liquid wasn't real blood. He hoped it cleaned up easily.
The music abruptly stopped, and Elsa froze in position, staring at the audience. "If you were the one wielding the knife," she whispered, "would you watch?"
She moved so quickly his eyes couldn't track it, striking a new dramatic pose at each corner of the stage. And then, making Jack's heart lurch into his throat, she moved in a blur up the wall and appeared on the ceiling, clinging to it upside down like Spider-Man in a way he hadn't even known vampires were capable of. Her fake-blood-soaked hair dangled in clumped strands as she bared her teeth, hissed, and then let out a primal scream.
"Oh, God," Jack said, jerking backward and nearly knocking over a table.
The lights went out.
When they came back up, Elsa was standing back on the stage, grinning. She swept a bow. "Thank you for watching!" she said. "And don't forget to vote for Emma Overland in November."
🩸🩸🩸
JACK ... CLAPPED.
Other people were clapping, too, which was a good sign.
Maybe. They were also talking in hushed voices, though, and no one looked particularly happy except the grandmother-now spattered with fake blood-and the two high school theatre kids, who were hooting and high-fiving.
Elsa took another bow, dripping more fake blood onto the floor. She looked like Carrie at the prom, except with more sequins.
When she disappeared behind the curtain and the rest of the café lights came up, Jack sank into the nearest chair, hands pressed to his mouth as he tried not to hyperventilate.
He'd fucked up. Lycaon, how he'd fucked up. Emma had asked him to put together a performance that would get people excited about the arts and voting, and he hadn't asked a single question when Elsa had assured him she had come up with something "in the finest tradition of experimental theatre." He'd been too busy obsessing about the million other things he barely had a handle on.
Emma sat next to Jack. She stared blankly at the stage, which one of the Thespians was now mopping. It was almost enough for Jack to forgive the kids for helping Elsa pull off that horrifying display in the first place.
"That was.." Emma said, trailing off.
"Yeah," Jack replied.
"A lot."
"Yup."
A string quartet he'd hired to wrap up the event launched into a lively ditty. A few customers had already left, but as the sound of violins wound around the tables, the atmosphere relaxed.
He hoped. It was hard to tell when his pulse was pounding in his temples and he felt like beating his head against the nearest wall. He swallowed the urge to vomit.
Jack's parents chose that moment to appear in front of him.
They looked.... well, about how he imagined he looked. "Wow, that was sure something!" his mother enthused, pasting on a wide smile. "Such an original choice. Very daring."
"She's very pretty when she's not dripping with blood and shrieking," his father offered
Jack groaned and covered his face with his hands. "I ... don't know how to process this yet. That wasn't what I expected."
That earned him two more hugs and a peck on the cheek from his mother, and then his parents were thankfully out the door. His mother had always seemed nearly psychic about what her children needed, and in this case Jack needed space to have a meltdown.
"Jackson Overland, right?"
Jack flinched, dreading whatever was about to follow that in-quiry. Melting down would have to wait. "That's me," he said, standing and turning to face his judgment.
A short, rotund man with pointed ears, horns, and backward-jointed knees stood before him. A faun, hiding his furry haunches beneath a purple velvet suit.
The man held out a hand. "I'm Cornelius Crabapple, arts and entertainment journalist at the Dreamney Falls Gazette. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Jack gave a tentative handshake. Inside he was screaming, though. Of all the people who could have witnessed Elsa's performance, this had to be one of the worst. Just imagining the headline in the Dreamney Falls Gazette made him sick: "Vampire Succubus Unleashes Shrieking Reign of Terror on Horrified Patrons of Jack's Plant Emporium and It's All Jack's Fault." "Sorry," he said. "That show was."
"Brilliant!" Cornelius exclaimed, clapping his hands.
Jack blinked, taken aback. "It ... was?"
Cornelius nodded happily, making his silky ears bob. "Dreamney Falls used to welcome more edgy shows in the seventies, but for decades now we've been subjected to the same wholesome community theatre shows year after year." The faun winced. "I can't tell you how many times I've been forced to endure Hello, Dolly! at the theatre guild. This is a daring departure and, dare I say, bold enough to put Dreamney Falls on the national experimental theatre map."
Next to him, Emma looked as baffled as Jack felt. When he didn't reply, though, unable to summon words, she quickly took over. Her expression smoothed into a smile, and she shook Cornelius's hand.
"We're so glad you feel that way," she said warmly. "I believe strongly that there's a place for all art in Dreamney Falls, from family-friendly musicals to daring, experimental pieces that push the limits of what audiences are comfortable with."
Jack suppressed the urge to snort at that line of bullshit. She was definitely developing into a politician.
"Exactly," Cornelius said, snapping his fingers. "The feelings elicited in the viewer are as much a part of the art as what happens onstage. I know I'll be thinking about this show for a long time." He looked around the room. "Is the actress available? I'd love to get a few quotes from her for my review."
Jack was about to say, No, Elsa's long gone, please don't allow her to make this any weirder, but she took that moment to pop out from the old janitor's closet, face freshly scrubbed and fake-blood-soaked hair clipped up. She'd changed into normal clothing, and Jack wondered at the state of the sequined jumpsuit. Could it be dry-cleaned?
"Ms. Arendelle-Devereux," Cornelius called out, waving frantically as he hurried toward Elsa. "A moment of your time!"
As he engaged Elsa in conversation, Jack looked at Emma again. They stared at each other blankly for a long moment, then simultaneously burst into laughter.
"Oh my God," Emma wheezed, bending over at the waist. "Did that just happen?"
"Do you mean," Jack replied between great, shoulder-shaking laughs, "d-did the most horrifying thing I've ever seen just im-impress a theatre critic so much he says-he says-oh God-it's going to put us on the national experimental theatre map?"
He was losing it. Going through so many emotions in the course of an hour couldn't be healthy.
"Heavens," Emma said, fanning her red-tinged cheeks. "I knew theatre people were odd, but wow."
Other people were clustering around Elsa, peppering her with questions. When Jack looked around, he realized not that many customers had left after all. The majority were chatting or drinking or perusing the plants, and the bright sound of laughter rang over the gathering.
Hope swelled behind the last few wheezy chuckles. Maybe he hadn't messed up as badly as he'd thought. "Am I forgiven?" he asked Emma.
"That was the fucking weirdest thing I've ever seen," his sister said. "But you know what? I'm not mad at it." She grinned, then punched his shoulder. "You at least keep things interesting."
🩸🩸🩸
PERFORMING ONSTAGE WAS AMAZING.
Elsa beamed as she accepted a glass of champagne from one of her new fans.
"That was some crazy shit," the dryad said. "I think the old man in front of me nearly fainted." She looked to be in her early twenties, with bark-brown skin and hair. Elsa wouldn't have necessarily known she was a dryad if she hadn't popped out of the wood-paneled wall, nearly scaring Elsa into an inadvertent stabbing. Thankfully she'd restrained herself, since murdering one of her fans would have been unfortunate.
"Thank you," Elsa said, bowing her head. "I wasn't sure it would be experimental enough."
Her research had emphasized that the point of experimental theatre was to push the boundaries of what was comfortable and acceptable in public. To create a space so far from the ordinary, one could explore both the profane and the sacred, free of traditional limits. But since Elsa wasn't using real blood, actively harming herself or anyone else, or engaging in public acts of sex or defecation, she'd feared she hadn't brought enough of the profane into her performance.
"Oh, believe me, it's going to be the talk of the town." The dryad raised a hand. Elsa hesitantly raised her own, mirroring it as she'd seen Tarzan do in an animated movie earlier that week. The woman smacked their palms together, making Elsa jolt with surprise. "Please tell me you're performing again," the dryad said.
That was what the theatre critic, Cornelius Crabapple, had requested, too. "I don't know," Elsa said, looking toward Jack.
"That's up to the proprietor."
She hoped he'd let her perform again, though.
She'd been painfully aware of Jack's presence all night, watching him from behind the curtain. He was obviously not comfortable in large social settings, choosing to linger near the walls, but he'd been beaming with pride.
Most of the time, anyway. Immediately after her performance, he'd looked so distressed she'd had a terrible fear she had disappointed him.
Thankfully, he was now laughing with his sister and their friends, so apparently all was well.
"I want to bring my stepmom next time," the dryad said, drawing Elsa's attention again.
"Do you think she'll like it?" Elsa asked. She sipped the champagne, enjoying the play of bubbles over her tongue.
"Not in the least." The woman grinned. "But I'll have a hell of a good time."
Another well-wisher approached. Elsa wasn't practiced with casual conversation after so many years, but it was surprisingly easy to fall back into the rhythm of it. People congratulated her; she thanked them. Sometimes they had questions about the performance, the costume, or the fake blood recipe, which she'd been happy to share. The Dreamney Falls High School students Jack had connected her with for lighting and sound-Penelope and Melody-had been enormously helpful on all accounts. They'd created this batch of fake blood and taught her how to make her own from common household ingredients.
She glanced toward Jack again, nibbling her lower lip. What had he thought about the performance? Had it been interesting and significant enough to give a boost to Emma's campaign?
He met her eyes across the room, and Elsa's heart sped up.
She pressed her fingers to the throbbing pulse in her neck, wondering at the visceral response to nothing but a look. Then Jack started making his way toward her through the crowd, and her stomach dipped in a pleasant yet alarming way.
The werewolf looked especially handsome tonight in gray slacks and a forest-green dress shirt with a silver tie. His thick hair had been brushed and styled by Tinkerbell earlier, and it looked smooth and shiny under the light. Her fingertips itched as she wondered what the strands would feel like gripped in her fists. His cologne wafted toward her as he approached, and she inhaled deeply, seeking the scent of his skin and blood beneath.
Stars, he smelled edible. Her fangs lengthened at the temptation.
Jack waited for a gap between fans. "Hey," he said when he was finally able to step close.
"Hey," she replied, tipping her head back to look up at him. She suddenly felt too warm, and anxiety skittered up her spine to burrow into her brain. What if he'd hated the show? What if it hadn't been daring or original enough?
What if she didn't smell as good to him as he smelled to her?
He cleared his throat, then pulled his hand from behind his back to reveal a small pot filled with red-and-yellow pansies. "For you," he said.
Elsa took the pot. The petals trembled, and she realized she was shaking slightly. "Thank you, but why? You already gave me flowers once."
His mouth quirked up. "Flowers aren't a once-in-a-lifetime gift, Elsa. People give them to each other frequently to say thank you or sorry or congratulations or just because they're thinking about someone."
"Oh." Her face felt even more flushed. "But I don't have any for you."
"I wasn't the one performing," he said, shrugging. "Besides, men don't usually get flowers."
She frowned. "That doesn't seem fair. Why shouldn't men deserve flowers as well?" In fact, she felt bad for neglecting this apparent tradition. It was the opening night of his café-he deserved something pretty to congratulate him.
"I agree," he said. "Maybe that can be your next campaign after revitalizing the Dreamney Falls theatre scene. Equal access to floral arrangements." He had such a nice smile, the kind that crinkled the skin beside his eyes and creased his cheeks. His face was lived-in, which she liked. It made her want to know the story behind each small line. Made her want to deepen those lines, too, knowing she was the cause of his smiles.
She rubbed her chest over her pounding heart. Her mortal, succubus heart, which was beating for a new possibility-one she wasn't sure she could fully face yet.
"Was it truly okay?" Elsa asked quietly. "The performance?" It had been a long time since she'd craved someone's approval, but she craved his.
Jack bit his lip. He had normal canines, not sharp like hers, but his teeth were nice and mostly straight except for a few charmingly snaggled ones she liked the look of. "It was very original," he said.
Her shoulders relaxed. "Thank goodness. I was worried it wouldn't be groundbreaking enough."
At that, Jack chuckled. "Ah, no, it was plenty groundbreaking," he said. "Dreamney Falls is full of oddities, but I can safely say no one has done precisely that before."
"And you liked it?" she pressed. The audience clearly had-or at least those who hadn't seemed to enjoy it had been appropriately dazed and contemplative afterward-but his opinion meant the most.
Why that should be, she didn't care to analyze at the moment.
As a habit she tried not to ruminate on her emotions.
"It was amazing," Jack said. "Very weird and kind of scary, but that's what you were going for, right?"
Amazing, he'd said. Pride swelled in her breast. "I wanted to challenge the audience's perception of beauty, appearances, death, and truth," she explained, echoing her artist's statement. "Juxtaposing music and glitter with the bloody reality of killing or being killed reminds us that life is fleeting, and that there's something raw and ugly underneath even the prettiest of surfaces."
"Oh," Jack said, smile dimming. "You really think everything is ugly underneath?"
She shrugged. "It doesn't have to be in a bad way. Vampires think blood is beautiful, after all, even when it's pooled beneath a corpse."
Jack's eye twitched at that. He wasn't used to seeing things from the darker perspective she'd been raised with. The medieval era hadn't been a gentle one, and she'd been raised in a band of warriors before she'd had to put those lessons into practice as an ensorcelled assassin.
Elsa wanted him to understand, though, so she cast about for better words to explain why she'd chosen this message and why it wasn't as dismal as it sounded. "It's more that... Most people end up in the ground anyway. Pretending otherwise doesn't change that, and there's freedom in knowing that and fighting anyway. Choosing to face the truth beneath life, no matter how bloody or strange, is always better than fooling yourself into thinking the sparkles on the surface are what's real."
It was something she'd thought about often over the years, not only as someone who had been raised to face the dark and thrive in it, but as someone others viewed a certain way. Elsa was beautiful-there was no point denying that. She'd inherited her mother's looks and a bit of her succubus magnetism. Often, the best way to carry out the witch's orders had been to let Elsa's prey assume the pretty surface was the sum of her substance and that they had nothing to fear.
It had bothered her to act vapid and flirtatious. It had bothered her that when people who misjudged or harassed her died, she felt guilty that she hadn't shown them the truth from the start. Better to face death knowing it was coming than be surprised when something you thought was safe turned out not to be.
And if you were the one dealing the death, it was essential to face what you had done. She hadn't been able to defy the orders of the Witch in the Woods, but she had been able to control how she viewed her own actions. Lying to herself was even worse than lying to others.
That train of thought was enough to bring her mood down, as always, but this time Elsa didn't want to let the anger and sorrow in. She shook her head sharply, dispelling the memories and musings. Tonight was a celebration, and if the performance had pulled an uncomfortable emotion out of her, that was the nature of impactful theatre.
"Enough about the play," she said, waving away whatever question was hovering on Jack's lips. "People love the café. How do you think the opening went?"
Jack looked around at the happy guests, and pride washed over his features. "I almost can't believe it's real and that so many people showed up."
"They like this place," Elsa said. "And they like you."
Jack shifted, looking down at his toes. "I don't know about that," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "They like free food and booze."
Did he truly not see how people looked at him? They watched him with affection and respect, and he'd barely had a moment alone all night. "They do like you," Elsa said firmly. "You are not allowed to be self-deprecating."
His head popped back up, and his eyebrows rose. "I'm not?"
"No," she said, crossing her arms. "Tonight is a celebration, and I insist you accept everyone's praise and appreciate your own hard work making this happen."
Jack chuckled, biting his lip for another of those rueful, thoughtlessly charming smiles. "Is it the vampire part or the succubus part that likes giving orders?"
"It's the Elsa part," she replied. Then she poked him in the arm. "Now go mingle and let people praise you."
He hesitated, eyes darting over the crowd. "Will you go with me? Social events aren't really my thing."
He wanted her to be his support? That was... nice. She hadn't had anyone rely on her on the field of battle in a long time. Perhaps this wasn't a traditional battlefield, but nothing about the situation she'd landed herself in was traditional.
"Yes," she said. "I will make sure no one accosts you or otherwise jeopardizes your person."
He chuckled and shook his head, then extended his elbow.
"Then let's go do that horrible activity known as socializing."
Elsa looped her hand through his arm, feeling warm and flustered and as if, for the first time in a very long time, something good might be beginning.
🩸🩸🩸
WHEN JACK OPENED HIS EYES, THERE WAS SOMETHING ON HIS NIGHTSTAND.
He blinked away sleep, trying to orient himself. It was the morning after the Annex opening, and by the sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtains, he'd slept later than usual. The light caught the petals of a handful of black-eyed Susans near his head, their roots encrusted in dirt.
He sat up, forehead furrowed. There was only one person who could be responsible, but why had Elsa ripped them out of the ground to leave next to his bed? And where had they come from?
There was a piece of paper next to the yellow blooms with one word written on it: CONGRATULATIONS.
"Oh," he said softly, rubbing his chest where a sweet ache had started behind his breastbone.
Elsa had given him flowers.
Sure, she had done it by invading someone's garden, then sneaking into his room in the dead of night-which was a bit unsettling considering her long career as an assassin-and crumbs of dirt were now spread over his nightstand and the surrounding floor, but it was the thought that counted.
Why shouldn't men deserve flowers as well?
She'd been indignant about the injustice, but he'd shrugged it off at the time. He ought to have known she wouldn't leave it at that. Elsa was a vampire succubus of action, for better or worse. She had discovered a wrong that needed righting, and so she had done it as quickly and aggressively as she did everything else.
He was beginning to suspect that beneath her prickly exterior,
Elsa was rather... sweet.
Jack picked up the flowers and cradled them close, not caring that he was getting his T-shirt dirty. He inhaled, taking in the fresh, sweet, earthy smell. His eyes grew blurry.
"Ridiculous," he whispered, rubbing away the tears that were tempted to fall. They were just flowers, nothing to cry over.
But they were his flowers.
He remembered how Elsa had looked when he'd given her flowers as an apology gift. Baffled at first, then surprised, and then she'd clutched the vase like a dragon hoarding treasure, hesitant to put them down even to eat.
He understood how that felt now.
Jack slid his feet into slippers and padded into the living room, where Elsa was glued to the television, mouth agape. "Good morning," he said. "What are you watching?"
"An interview show full of horrible people," Elsa replied.
A mug of blood sat before her, steam wafting upward. "Can you believe this man cheated on his wife with the nanny while she was cheating on him with the gardener and none of their combined thirteen children are his?"
Jack took one look at what was on TV and hurried over to block her view. "Oh, no, no, no. This is not good content to represent modern times." He considered. "At least, I hope not. But these shows are staged, anyway."
"It's fake?" Elsa frowned. "They shouldn't pretend it's real, then."
"Wait until you discover The Bachelor." It was Emma's guilty pleasure, which Jack had been forced to watch with her the season a werewolf had been looking for love. She'd tried to convince him to apply, but that had been a hard no. Dating one person was daunting enough-dating multiple people on camera would be a night-mare. The only possible redeeming feature was that it would all be scripted-no matter what Emma thought, he could not be convinced otherwise-which meant he wouldn't have to come up with witty conversation or smooth compliments on his own.
Elsa turned the TV off, then turned to face him. "You found your flowers." She looked expectant, if a bit wary. Worried about what he would say?
Jck was still hugging the flowers to his chest. "I did," he said.
"They're wonderful. Thank you, Elsa."
She shrugged, but a smile tugged at her lips. "Someone has to rectify the world's injustices."
Her smile hit him in the chest. It was soft and genuine, and he took it as a sign that she was coming to trust him. It was a trust he would always do his best to honor.
Jack busied himself trimming the stalks and finding a vase from the hall closet. Then he set the flowers on a bookshelf by the front window where the light would catch their petals.
The sight of a plastic-wrapped bundle on the driveway sent him hurrying out. The Dreamney Falls Gazette had arrived, likely containing a review of Elsa's performance and hopefully some good words for both Emma and the Emporium's expansion.
He ripped the plastic off on his way back in, and his sensitive nose twitched at the crisp, appetizing smell of newsprint paper and ink.
"Surprise Mayoral Development!" was the headline on the front page. Beneath it was a photo of Emma onstage at the Emporium. Jack skimmed the article, which introduced the new challenger for Lady Tremaine's position and detailed a few campaign promises. The article didn't take sides-with Emma an unknown and Tremaine quite frankly terrifying, Jack hadn't expected it to-but it was a decent write-up Emma ought to be pleased with.
Columnist Artemis Crumpet was the reporter responsible for updates on local events and venues, and Jack fist pumped when he saw "Local Spotlight: Jack's Plant Emporium" featured in her weekly column.
Jack's Plant Emporium, long a destination for those green in thumb, has expanded both its venue and appeal. An adjoining café termed the Annex now offers coffee, tea, wine, beer, and scrumptious sandwich and pastry options. The opening night was raucous and delightful, and this reporter was surprised to see the christening of a small stage that will host theatrical performances. Far be it from me to review the play at hand-Cornelius Crabapple has the details of that-but it's safe to say that, having witnessed a performance I never could have anticipated and have no words to describe, I'm excited to see what wild happenings Emporium proprietor Jackson Overland plans to host next.
Jack grinned as he skimmed the rest of the piece, which touched on a few specifics of the new menu and praised the Emporium's Annex as a great addition to the local gastronomic scene.
"What are you reading?" Elsa asked.
Jack had been so absorbed he hadn't moved past the front door.
"The local newspaper," he said. "They're discussing the Annex and Emma's campaign."
Elsa was at his side instantly, but this time Jack wasn't as badly startled as usual. Her vampire hyperspeed was becoming routine. They still needed to address the ceiling-crawling she'd debuted during her performance, though, which he hoped she never did late at night when he wasn't expecting it. "Is the performance review in there?" she asked.
"I'm looking for it," he said, flipping pages.
Elsa was nearly standing on his toes, so impatiently was she scanning the paper. Her arm pressed against his, and he could smell the conditioner she'd used on her long plantium hair-his conditioner, he thought with an odd sort of pride-and the naturally sweet spice of her skin. His pulse kicked up a notch. Elsa slid a glance up at him, undoubtedly able to hear or sense his heart rate, but thankfully didn't say anything.
"Here we go."
"A Bold New Talent" read the headline.
Gentlefolks of Dreamney Falls, I bear exciting news. In an era when our entertainment options are often limited to reality television reruns or the same goddamn musical year after year-no offense to the talent of our Dreamney Falls Theatre Guild, which is of high caliber but should really consider saying "Goodbye" to Dolly-our city has been blessed with an art piece so unique, so daring, so visceral, we have not seen its like before. Experimental theatrical performer Elsa Arendelle-Devereux, a vampire succubus of mysterious origins, unleashed a fury of a performance onstage at Jack's Plant Emporium and Annex last night. It is impossible to fully explain the show's appeal in words-some things must be experienced to be understood.
"This is great," Jack said. The photo accompanying it had been taken in the interpretive dance section before she'd dumped the bucket over her head. Elsa had been captured midmovement: her fake-blood-streaked torso was twisted, her hands outspread and head flung back as she balanced on one leg. Starbursts of light shone from the sequins, and her hair trailed behind her like a fiery banner.
She looked ... joyous.
"He really did like it," Elsa said wonderingly. She tapped the page with one fingernail. "See here? He says I am 'beautiful and fearsome to behold' and 'a true original."
"You are," Jack said. "In every way."
Elsa looked up at him like he'd hung the stars in the sky.
Her blue eyes were bright with feeling, and a pretty pink flush crested her cheeks. "That's the nicest compliment I've ever gotten," she said in a hushed voice.
Jack felt dizzy looking at her. She'd already been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but happiness gave an ethereal glow to her features. His stomach dipped, and every inch of his skin seemed to light up at once. He was hyperaware of the soft press of her arm against his and the way one of her long, waving locks tickled his skin; he fancied he could even feel the shift of molecules in the air as she exhaled.
Oh.
Oh shit.
Jack had been single for a long time and was, historically, rather dense about women, but he could tell when he was about to be in a boatload of trouble. No one had caught his eye in years, yet here he was, tumbling headfirst into infatuation with the scariest, strangest, most captivating woman he'd ever met.
Jack swallowed hard. "I'll need to compliment you more often, then," he said in a rough voice.
Elsa's gaze flicked to his lips so quickly he might have imagined it. "Compliments aren't mandatory."
He huffed in amusement. Practical, blunt Elsa. "I know," he said. "Neither are flowers."
The silent message hung between them. They had both given each other flowers, not out of obligation, but because they'd wanted to. Because they cared.
Elsa's lips curved in a secret smile. "You know, I think-" Whatever she was thinking was lost, though, because his phone rang suddenly and shrilly. It was his house phone, which only his family had the number to-"A landline, Jack? In the era of Our Lady Taylor Swift?" Tinkerbell had mocked when she'd found out-which meant someone had tried to call his cell phone first and wanted to talk to him badly. "Sorry," Jack said, forehead furrowing as he hurried for the receiver. "No one calls that number unless it's important."
When he picked up, he'd barely started to say hello when Emma's voice burst over the line.
"Lady Tremaine wants to meet me. What do I do?" His sister thought this was important enough to interrupt his... flirting? Was that what he'd been doing?
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did you think you'd get through the whole campaign without seeing her? She probably wants to set up a debate."
"Not a debate," Emma said. "She wants to meet me alone in an abandoned warehouse on the south side of town. In an hour."
"Oh." That admittedly didn't sound great. "Maybe it's an informal meet and greet, since you're her only opponent."
"Yeah, and maybe she's going to murder me where there are no witnesses."
"She's not going to murder you."
"She might."
"Who is committing murder?" Elsa asked from right next to Jack, where she had arrived with her usual abruptness.
Jack put his hand over the receiver. "Lady Tremaine wants to meet Emma in an hour," he told Elsa. "She's nervous about it."
"Oh my God," Emma said so loudly anyone within five feet of the phone could have heard her. "Do you have a woman over at your house?" She sounded scandalized and delighted, and Jack groaned, knowing the news would spread to his parents and then the rest of the Overland-Frost clan with shocking rapidity.
"Give me that," Elsa said, snatching the phone from his grasp.
Jack blinked as Elsa launched into a series of terse questions. Where was the meeting? Was Emma worried for her safety?
Had Lady Tremaine murdered many people before? No?
Well, that was no guarantee she wouldn't start now.
"Tell her you'll be happy to meet but will be bringing security," Elsa ordered. She handed the phone off to Jack without waiting for a response. "I'll go sharpen my knives." She disappeared into the spare room.
Jack gaped after Elsauntil a burst of sound from the receiver reminded him Emma was still on the line.
"That was Elsa, wasn't it?" she asked. "Are you sleeping with her? Does she moonlight as a security officer?"
Jack winced. "I'm not sleeping with her, not that it's any of your business. And no, not to my knowledge, but she seems to have volunteered herself for the task."
Emma made a shrieking noise. "I knew you were into her."
"Shhhh." He had no idea how sharp vampire hearing was. "It's not like that."
It was totally like that. It was also almost certainly one-sided.
"Yeah, sure." He could almost hear her eye roll. "We'll talk more about this verrrry interesting development later. I need to pick an outfit suitable for meeting my new enemy. Are you part of my security detail, too?"
The alternative was letting both Emma and Elsa confront Lady Tremaine, the ice queen mayor of Dreamney Falls, alone, and neither werewolf curiosity nor Jack's natural protectiveness would allow that to happen. Tremaine wasn't a killer, but she wasn't exactly nice either. "Obviously," he said-even though the first and only time he'd interacted directly with Tremaine had resulted in him being harangued and insulted before Tremaine had magically blasted Eugene across the Emporium and destroyed one of Jack's plant displays. He swallowed hard. "Wear shoes you can run in, okay?"
"Sure thing," Emma said. "Lycaon, now I'm actually excited. See you and your totally-not-girlfriend Elsa soon! I'll text you the address."
She hung up, and Jack sagged against the wall, feeling like he'd been churned up and spit out by two tornadoes in a row. What vindictive deity had saddled him with so many domineering women?
His lips twitched. And why wasn't he remotely upset about it?
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