Not a Werewolf: Jake and Boo, #1

Not a Werewolf

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Jake & Boo – Book 1

Madeline Kirby

Not a Werewolf by Madeline Kirby

Copyright © 2015 by Madeline Kirby

Cover Design: Madeline Kirby

EBooks are not transferable. All Rights are reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any places, organizations, or locales have been used fictionally and are not to be construed as representative or factual. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events, is entirely coincidental.

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www.evilgeniusatwork.com

ebook ISBN: 9780996195829

Dedication

For my Breakfast Club – the Divas,

the Goddesses, my road trip buddies.

And of course my husband, the Honorary Goddess

and all-around good sport.

Behave yourselves, and don’t eat too much jerky.

Table of Contents

Jake Is Not a Werewolf

Jake Finds Something on a Bridge

Jake Discovers Something Unpleasant

Jake Buys a Candle

Jake Annoys a Neighbor

Boo Barges In

Pancakes and Petreski

Talking to Tom

Petreski Barges In

Can’t a Guy Just Get a Cup of Coffee?

Can’t a Guy Just Do His Laundry?

Jake and Don Get Nosy

Perez Has a Soft Spot

Jake Buys Don a Candle

A Guy Can’t Even Get a Beer

Coffee and Speculation

Road Trip!

Tom Eavesdrops

Jake is Not Convinced

A Day in the Country

Jake Visits Tom’s Love Nest

A Visit Goes Awry

If You Feed Them, They Won’t Leave

About the Location

About the Author

Other Books by Madeline Kirby

Jake Is Not a Werewolf

I think I might be a werewolf.

I think you’ve been reading too many paranormal romance novels.

Well, something’s wrong with me, and that’s the only explanation I can think of that makes any sense.

"Dude, it makes no sense. There’s no such thing as werewolves."

I tried growling at my best friend, but he just gave me a funny look, with his upper lip kind of pulled up on one side, letting me know what he thought of that. I had to admit it didn’t sound very convincing. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a werewolf. I tried growling again, to make sure.

You’re not a werewolf, Jake. Shut up.

Maybe I’m one of those submissive werewolves. An Omega or whatever. I was still hung up on the growling thing.

Not. A. Werewolf. Don repeated, not lifting his eyes from the book he was reading. He turned the page, as if I hadn’t just dropped a paranormal bomb on him. His best friend might be a werewolf, and he was fucking reading a book?

What are you reading? I asked, to make conversation and get his attention back on me.

"World War Z."

Isn’t that about zombies? I asked.

Yep.

So you don’t believe in werewolves, but you believe in zombies?

Don closed the book and rubbed at a spot between his eyes. No. I do not believe in zombies. I am entertained by zombies.

I don’t think I like your tone.

You don’t like my tone? Really? You know, you could not like my tone from your own apartment.

What the fuck? Fine. I opened the door onto the hall, leaving it standing open as I left because I knew that irritated him and he’d have to get up to close it. I marched across the landing and opened the door to my own apartment before turning back to deliver my parting shot. Just be careful on the next full moon, dude. I’ll be watching for you.

Don’s witty comeback was an elegantly extended middle finger. He’d gotten really good at that gesture since we’d met. I flopped down on my sofa and looked out the window while I waited for Don to come over and continue the conversation.

My squirrel was back. Well, not mine, obviously, but the one who hangs out in the live oak outside my apartment and watches me through the windows, the furry little perv. He was nibbling on an acorn, spinning it around in his sharp little claws while he watched me like I was an exhibit at the zoo. Maybe to squirrels, that’s what humans inside their houses are. Maybe we’re just entertainment for them.

Okay, fine. Why do you think you’re a werewolf? I turned to see Don leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

I didn’t say anything, just frowned and turned back to watch my voyeuristic squirrel.

Dude, come on. You look like hell, you’ve been acting loopy all week, and now this werewolf stuff. What’s going on?

I sighed and swung my legs to the floor so Don could join me on the sofa. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in days. I have these crazy dreams that seem to go on and on, and I wake up exhausted.

And that translates to you being a werewolf how?

"The dreams are the same every night – well, pretty much. I’m running and smelling things and hunting. I’m running on four legs and I have fur and paws, I can see them when I look down. I don’t really think clearly in my dreams – I mostly feel stuff."

Like what?

Happy, frightened, excited. Nothing complicated. But I run and run, and it’s so vivid. Like I’m really there, and I wake up feeling like I was.

Maybe you’re just not sleeping well. Have you tried taking a sleep aid?

Yeah, but that just made it worse. Like I was still there, but having trouble keeping up – like walking against the tide.

Okay, I get that you’re having some kind of sleep issues and crazy dreams, but the werewolf thing is over the top. Maybe you’re sleepwalking?

That sounded better than being a werewolf, even though werewolves were pretty cool. But, wouldn’t that be dangerous? Like, what if I’m sleepwalking and get hit by a car crossing the street, or head over to the park and fall into the bayou or something?

Don rested his head on the back of the sofa and looked at the ceiling. I haven’t heard you leave your apartment, though, and I think I would.

Yeah, that was pretty likely. It was an old building, one of those early twentieth century rooming-style buildings with eight studio apartments, each with a bathroom and a tiny kitchen. There was a wide hallway that ran through the center of the building from front to back on both floors. The original wooden interior doors were still there, and there were gaps between the bottoms of the doors and the floor.

Yeah. Whatever.

Jake...

Yeah, yeah. I know. Maybe it’s nerves. Midterms are coming up in a couple of weeks.

Pfft. Since when have you worried about school?

Since my advisor told me I needed to stop putzing around and settle on a major. He seems to think seven years is long enough to make up my mind.

He may have a point.

I shrugged.

You want to talk about it?

I just... I just really like studying, you know? There’s so much, and I want to learn so much of it. How can I possibly make up my mind? How can I pick just one thing?

Just because you graduate doesn’t mean you have to stop going to school. Or you could double major. That squirrel is starting to freak me out.

The squirrel had moved to sit on the windowsill and was watching us through the slightly rippled glass.

He’s probably just hungry.

You’ve been feeding it, haven’t you?

Sometimes I put some sunflower seeds on the windowsill. The occasional pecan. Maybe.

What if it has rabies?

He doesn’t have rabies.

How do you know? Are you an animal expert now? Maybe you should transfer to A&M.

Yeah, and my fine gay ass would last how long in College Station? No, thank you very little, I’ll stay right here. I looked at the squirrel, who had started scratching at the window. I just know. I don’t know how I know, but I know.

You definitely need a good night’s sleep. You’re getting loopier by the minute.

I didn’t answer. I got up to fetch a handful of sunflower seeds from the kitchen and crossed back over to the window.

Whoa. Are you going to open that window?

Duh.

What if it tries to come inside?

He won’t. And if he does I’ll put him back out. Just chill.

The squirrel was looking at Don now, and when I raised the window he started making that annoyed chirpy noise they make when someone is in their territory. I don’t think he liked Don any more than Don liked him. Now, now. Hush, you. I sprinkled the seeds on the windowsill and the squirrel decided they were more interesting than Don and dug into his snack. I closed the window and left him to it. Miss Nancy says –

Oh, lord. Miss Nancy? Now we’re getting somewhere. Don did not think much of my spiritual advisor.

Miss Nancy has a gift. She did, too. I had known Miss Nancy since I was twelve, and she had guided me over many a bump in my adolescent road. She always encouraged me to trust myself and never flipped me off or called me loopy. And I’m going to see her tomorrow.

You’re going to do what you want to do, no matter what I say.

Yeah.

Okay, fine. I gotta go – I’m working happy hour today. You want to come by? I can hook you up with a beer or two.

Probably not. Maybe I’ll try to go to bed early.

Jake Finds Something on a Bridge

I didn’t sleep any better that night than I had the rest of the week. I woke up grumpy and too unfocused to bother with making my own coffee, so I walked a few blocks to the local coffee shop, Ground Up. Harry was working the counter and fixed me a large French press all for myself without batting an eye. I must have looked like death warmed over.

I found a table in a corner and was waiting for my coffee to finish doing its thing when the chair across from me slid out and a cappuccino and scone were plopped down on the table.

Figured you’d be here. You get any sleep last night? Don asked.

Not much.

Dreams again?

I nodded.

So, do you remember these dreams in detail?

I pushed the plunger on the coffee pot and tried to remember something concrete from last night’s dreams.

There was a lot going on. I remember at one point I was walking along the bayou, and I wanted to get closer. There was something that I wanted to smell, or something like that. I just remember the feeling of wanting something. But then something distracted me, or pulled me away, or something – I don’t know.

Is that it?

Later – I don’t know how much later – I remember feeling afraid. I paused to take a sip of coffee. There were these, I don’t know, shadows or shapes, and they were making a lot of noise.

What kind of noise?

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. It was like... yelling. Like when kids are playing and getting rowdy and talking trash. That kind of thing. But there were a bunch of them, a group, and I was afraid, so I ran and hid.

That doesn’t sound like a very werewolf-like reaction.

I gave Don the best glare I could manage in my exhausted state. So you’re an expert now? I’m new at this, okay? And maybe... maybe I’m some other kind of shifter?

Oh geez, what have you been reading now? Other kind of shifter?

Can we get back to my dream, please?

Fine. So what happened next?

"The shadows – I guess maybe they were rowdy teenagers – moved on, and I came out of my hiding place. I think I was underneath some bushes. Anyway, I came out and started walking along the bayou again. I had walked a ways when I heard crying."

Like a baby?

No. Some kind of animal. A kitten, I think. I followed the sound to where that old railroad trestle crosses the bayou. Where the bike trail is.

And?

I could hear it – it sounded really scared and sad – but I couldn’t find it. I kept looking, and I started getting worked up and anxious and that’s when I woke up.

Don downed the last of his drink and wrapped what was left of his scone in a napkin. Okay, let’s go.

What? Where?

To the trestle – the bike trail. Come on.

"But my coffee! I need this."

Don went up to the counter and Harry gave him a big to-go cup for the rest of my coffee. I let Don drag me out of the shop and down the street. What are we doing?

We are going to go to the trestle and see if we find a lost kitten or whatever. Maybe if we go to the scene of the dream it will help somehow.

I wasn’t so sure, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. We were only a few blocks from where the trail crossed the bayou, so what did I have to lose but a little time?

We were the only ones on the trestle – the early morning cyclists and joggers were gone by now and people with normal jobs were at work. There was some highway noise, but we were used to that.

Okay, here we are, Don said. Do you remember where you were in your dream?

I looked around, trying to remember shapes and angles from the dream. It had been dark, but I had been able to see pretty well. I remember that, I said, pointing to the distinctive shape of a Quonset hut to our north. I remember going up there because I smelled wood and I wanted to look for rats.

Ew.

I ignored him and turned to look over the railing. So I was on the north bank, under the trestle.

We stood there for a minute looking around, listening to the traffic whiz by on the highway.

Hear any kittens? Don asked.

Ha ha. I’m not sure what we’re supposed to be doing here.

I don’t know. I just figured, it was close so what was the harm in checking it out, if it would help.

Yeah. It makes sense. You hear anything?

Nope.

We stood there for another minute, not hearing anything but the sound of traffic and some banging sounds from the nearby lumberyard. A long-legged bird was high-stepping around in the water below, looking for something to eat.

Don sighed. Maybe –

And then we heard it. In one of those rare soundless moments in the middle of all that noise we heard the saddest, tiniest mewing sound I’d ever heard. All the cute cat videos on the internet had not prepared me for that sound.

Ohmigod! Ohmigod ohmigod. Did you hear that? I started spinning around, trying to figure out where the sound had come from.

Okay, calm down. It’s obviously not here on the bridge. You stay here. Don jogged back to end of the bridge and took a dirt path down the slope. When he got to the bottom he looked up to where I was standing on the bridge.

Do you see anything? I called down.

Not yet. Don was looking around on the ground, up the slope, and then up to where I stood on the bridge. Maybe. About six feet to your right. A little farther. There. There’s something hanging from the bridge.

I looked down and could see a piece of twine tied around one of the upright posts of the bridge railing. There’s something tied to the railing.

Can you pull it up?

Ohmigod. What if it’s – I don’t know – gross or creepy or something?

Dude, it was alive a few seconds ago, right? If that’s it we’ve gotta help it.

Right. He was right, so I managed to get my hand down between the rails and started pulling up whatever was hanging from the twine. It wasn’t heavy, and it didn’t seem to be moving. When I got it up far enough I could see it was a cheap drawstring bag. It wouldn’t fit between the horizontal railings, so I had to work it up, one rail at a time. By the time I got it high enough to reach from above, Don had made it back up to the bridge and lifted it over. He put it on the pavement between us and started working on the knot that was holding the bag closed.

I could see the bag move a little, and then I heard that sad little mewing again. Hurry!

I’m trying!

"The office at the lumberyard