4. The Hawthornes
4
The Hawthornes
“This isn’t working.”
I frowned at my reflection in the rearview mirror as I drove us out of East Valley. Despite my best efforts with concealer, a beanie, and Ellie’s largest scarf, I was still projecting strong Sasquatch vibes. Luckily, we’d managed to leave Parkside undetected by our neighbors, though Mrs. Chen’s cat had taken one look at me through her window and fallen off its perch.
“You look fine,” Hugh reassured from the backseat.
“You look like someone tried to groom an orangutan with a leaf blower,” Bo commented bluntly from the passenger seat.
I shot the Husky a dark look. “Not helping.” I paused. “How do you know about orangutans?”
“I watch the Discovery Channel when you guys aren’t home,” my dog said with zero compunction. “Also, Marshmallow told us he saw one at the zoo once. That trip scared the poop out of him.”
“Marshmallow?”
“The Saint Bernard who lives on the next street over. Friendly guy, if a little overzealous when it comes to butt sniffing.”
I fervently hoped werewolves didn’t sniff each other’s butts.
“At least your eyebrows look good,” Ellie offered helpfully from beside Hugh.
I scowled. “That’s because they’ve merged into a giant unibrow.”
“That’s the least of your problems,” Bo said solemnly. “Wait till your tail starts growing.”
I froze, horrified. That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.
“That’s not going to happen, right?” I twisted to glare at Hugh. “Right?!”
“Um.” Hugh suddenly became interested in the scenery outside the window. “Oh look, there’s Hawthorne Manor.” He pointed with a maniacal grin.
I followed his finger distractedly. An estate appeared at the top of a hill in Temple Heights, Amberford’s historic district. The windows of a mansion sparkled faintly in the distance between the treetops.
I dragged my gaze from our destination and narrowed my eyes at Hugh. “Answer the question. Am I going to grow a tail?!”
“Only when you shift,” Hugh admitted reluctantly. “But hey, it’s a really nice tail,” he added hastily as I ground my teeth. “It’s super fluffy and shiny, if you use the right hair care products.”
“You’re not gonna use my dog shampoo, are you?” Bo said suspiciously.
“No!”
“Good.” He sniffed. “I like that shampoo. It tastes like strawberries.”
“I personally recommend Fur-Ever Fresh,” Hugh declared magnanimously. “If you’re having a bad fur day, there’s no beating Moon Shine: Extra Glossy Coat.”
Ellie took her phone out and started taking notes.
“Oh God.” I pulled up at a traffic light and thumped my forehead against the steering wheel. The horn blared, making us all jump and drawing a stare from the guy in the pickup next to us.
His eyes bulged when he saw me.
I hunched down and slammed my foot on the gas when the light changed. The car jerked forward, throwing us all back into our seats. Bo whined in protest.
“Maybe we should let Hugh drive?” Ellie suggested in a small voice.
My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “No one drives Ethel but me.”
“You named your car Ethel?” Hugh asked.
“You use a shampoo called Moon Shine,” I shot back.
“Touché.”
We entered Temple Heights. I could practically smell the trust funds in the air as I drove us past mansions that made my apartment building look like a garden shed. The Subaru chugged painfully up to the top of the hill.
I turned onto a private cul-de-sac that screamed old money and rolled Ethel to a stop in front of a pair of wrought-iron gates. My eyes found the statues atop the stone pillars bracing them.
They were wolves. Big, bad, dangerous-looking wolves. My gaze dropped.
“Whoa, look at the size of his—” Ellie started hoarsely.
“Holy ding-a-long!” Bo’s jaw had sagged open.
I wrinkled my nose at the left wolf’s impressive privates before addressing Hugh in the mirror. “Was someone trying to compensate for something?”
He shook his head with a sad expression. “I wish I could say yes, but that’s an actual real-life representation of my great-great-grandpa Russell. Poor wolf died a terrible death.”
Bo, Ellie, and I shared an uneasy glance. Bar a well-appointed silver bullet washed down with a wolfsbane tonic, I didn’t know of any other way a werewolf could die.
“How did it happen?” I said cautiously.
“He got run over by a coven while chasing the newspaper truck. Dreadful thing.” Hugh shuddered. “Those witches are a menace. Air traffic control means nothing to them on Sabbath night.”
Ellie sucked in air.
I blinked. “Wait. Witches exist?!”
“Yeah,” Hugh muttered. “Amberford’s full of them.”
“I knew it!” Ellie hissed with righteous triumph.
“He’s right,” Bo said. “Mrs. Chen is a witch. Her cat Mimi is her familiar.”
“Mrs. Chen’s a witch?!” I gasped.
Ellie clutched her chest. “Mrs.—Mrs. Chen?!” she spluttered. “Our Mrs. Chen? You mean, the little old lady in 1B with the beatific smile and the deadly garden shears?!”
“The very one,” Bo huffed. “Saw her sneaking onto her broomstick in the rear garden once. She was wearing red bloomers.” He sniffed. “I bet she was wild in her heyday.”
I translated for Ellie, my eyes glazing over a little at the mental picture of our mostly harmless neighbor riding a broomstick while sporting red underwear.
The gates rolled open, distracting me from my mildly hysterical thoughts. Hugh stiffened in the back seat.
“Looks like they know we’re here,” the werewolf mumbled.
“Is it some kind of special power?” Ellie’s eyes sparkled with the enthusiasm of someone who’d just discovered the dark side of her town and was fully committed to relishing it. “You know, like a wolfy sense?”
Hugh pointed. “There’s a security camera on the gates.”
Ellie visibly deflated.
We drove up a winding driveway lined with ancient oak trees. The trees thinned before giving way to extensive, immaculate Victorian gardens. I was wondering what it cost to maintain them when an imposing Gothic mansion came into view.
The walls were dark red brick and draped in places in climbing roses and ivy. The facade was a myriad of leaded-glass windows, decorative buttresses and corbels, and ornate stone carvings, most of them creepy-looking gargoyles. A steep pitched roof crowned the rambling structure, the gables decorated with intricate wooden trimmings and finials. Chimneys with decorative pots populated the roofline.
My gaze found a majestic central tower with a crenellated parapet.
It looked like the kind of place princesses went to die.
I experienced a sudden urge to run for the hills and wondered maniacally if this was a werewolf thing or an Abby thing.
“Nice place,” Ellie said tentatively.
“For a horror movie,” Bo muttered.
I was with Bo on this one.
“It’s been in the family since Amberford was founded,” Hugh said with a trace of pride.
I pulled into a circular, graveled forecourt and parked Ethel in front of a set of impressive stone steps leading to a covered portico with Gothic arches.
“Anything else I should know before we go in?”
I was trying not to let my nerves show. After all, I’d literally just driven us into a den of werewolves.
“Samuel can be a bit intense.” Hugh scratched his cheek awkwardly. “His bark is worse than his bite. And Victoria is very particular about, well, everything.”
“Who’s Victoria?” I asked suspiciously.
The front door opened before he could answer. A middle-aged butler with a monocle, a mustache, and a lofty expression appeared.
“Master Hugh.” Relief danced briefly across his austere face at the sight of Hugh exiting the Subaru. “I am so glad to see you. Your mother has been most concerned about your whereabouts—” He froze when I got out of the car. His eyes bulged. “Master Hugh?!” he gasped, composure crumbling.
“I can explain, Bernard,” Hugh said warily.
The butler’s horrified gaze swung from my face to the embarrassed-looking man beside me. He whirled around and vanished inside the mansion.
“You have a butler?” Ellie said, impressed.
“Bernard’s family have been our butlers for as long as our pack has been in Amberford,” Hugh said distractedly.
The sheen of sweat was back. The werewolf looked like he was getting ready to run for those hills.
“Bernard didn’t look too happy to see us,” I pointed out.
The sound of a commotion reached our ears. A horrified “ What?! ” echoed somewhere inside the mansion.
Hugh tensed. Ellie and Bo shuffled behind me.
Rapid footsteps approached.
A tall woman in her fifties with silver hair pulled up in a tight bun and an expensive tweed suit appeared, her clothes in mild disarray. She was clutching a white Persian cat with sapphire eyes and a diamond-studded collar to her bosom.
Bernard followed, his monocle askew.
Bo started wagging his tail at the sight of the cat.
“What a pretty kitty,” Ellie breathed.
The feline acknowledged the compliment with a slow blink and curled a lip at the rest of us in a distinctly judgmental way.
“Hugh Bartholomew Hawthorne,” the woman hissed in an incensed voice, “what did you do?!”