Chapter 2
Two weeks into Milo’s employment, and we’d fallen into something resembling a routine. He still broke things with alarming regularity, but less catastrophically. The coffee machine remained his nemesis, but at least now the explosions of grounds were contained to a smaller radius.
What I hadn’t expected was how quickly customers would take to him.
His enthusiasm was infectious, and his encyclopedic knowledge of comic storylines impressed even our most hardcore regulars.
He had a way of connecting with the shy kids who came in, talking to them about their favorite characters with such genuine interest that they’d bloom like flowers in sunlight.
There was only one persistent oddity: his schedule. He’d requested—quite frantically—to have the three days around the full moon off each month.
“Family tradition,” he’d explained vaguely. “Very important ceremonies. Can’t miss them.”
I’d agreed without much thought. Plenty of people had religious or cultural practices, and it wasn’t like I couldn’t cover the store for a few days.
But as the full moon approached, Milo’s behavior grew increasingly erratic.
He was jumpier, more easily startled. Twice I caught him staring out the window, nostrils flaring, as if searching for something in the distance.
His already impressive appetite had doubled, and he’d taken to bringing what looked like entire raw chickens for lunch.
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked the day before his scheduled time off. “You seem… tense.”
“Fine,” he replied, but his leg was bouncing so rapidly under the counter that display items were beginning to migrate toward the edge. “Just excited for family time.”
“Right.” I wasn’t convinced. “Look, you don’t have to share if it’s private, but if something’s wrong—”
“Nothing’s wrong!” he interrupted, voice higher than usual. “Everything’s normal human stuff happening. Just normal.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You know, the more you insist you’re doing ‘normal human stuff,’ the more I wonder if you’re secretly an alien studying our species.”
He laughed too loudly. “Aliens! That’s funny! I’m definitely not an alien. Or any other non-human entity. Just a regular person with regular person concerns about the lunar cycle—I mean, about family gatherings.”
Before I could press further, the bell jangled as Mrs. Hernandez entered with her grandson. Milo practically leapt at the opportunity to escape our conversation, hurrying over to help the boy find the latest Spider-Man.
The rest of the day passed without incident, though Milo seemed increasingly distracted. When closing time arrived, he practically sprinted for the door.
“See you in four days!” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t worry if you can’t reach me. Cell reception is bad at… where we gather.”
I watched him disappear down the street, his small figure practically vibrating with nervous energy.
* * *
That night, I found myself oddly restless. The store felt too quiet without Milo’s chaotic presence. I’d grown accustomed to his constant questions, his delighted gasps when discovering a new comic, even the periodic crashes as he knocked things over.
It’s only three days, I reminded myself. Why am I even thinking about this?
I was halfway through reorganizing a shelf that didn’t need reorganizing when my phone buzzed with a weather alert: severe thunderstorm warning for the county. I sighed, remembering I’d left some shipment boxes in the alley behind the store. Better bring those in before they got soaked.
The air outside was heavy with impending rain, the full moon occasionally visible through fast-moving clouds. As I gathered the boxes, a sound stopped me cold—a whimper, coming from deeper in the alley.
“Hello?” I called, peering into the shadows. “Someone there?”
Another whimper, followed by what sounded like scratching.
Cautiously, I moved toward the noise, phone flashlight illuminating the darkness. Behind our dumpster, pressed against the brick wall, was… a wolf?
I froze. There were no wolves in this part of the country. It had to be a large dog, maybe lost or injured.
“Hey there,” I said softly, keeping my distance. “Are you hurt?”
The animal raised its head, and I found myself looking into familiar amber eyes. My flashlight revealed reddish-brown fur and a smaller frame than I’d expect from a wolf. Something about those eyes…
This is crazy. Absolutely crazy.
“…Milo?”
The wolf’s ears perked up, and it—he?—made a soft whining sound.
“This is insane. I’m talking to a wolf because its eyes remind me of my weird employee.” I rubbed my face. “I need sleep.”
But as I turned to leave, the wolf scrambled forward, moving awkwardly as if injured. It caught the edge of my jeans with its teeth, tugging gently.
“Hey!” I pulled away, startled. “Let go!”
The wolf released me immediately, backing up with that same whimper. And then—I still don’t know how to explain what I saw—it seemed to look… apologetic? It lowered its head, ears flattened, the very picture of contrition.
A particularly loud thunderclap made the wolf flinch violently, cowering against the wall.
Afraid of storms? Wait, didn’t Milo mention something about the full moon and not being able to contact him?
The pieces clicked together in my mind, forming a picture so absurd I almost laughed out loud. But those eyes…
“Okay,” I said, feeling completely ridiculous. “If you’re Milo, um… nod your head.”
The wolf immediately nodded, eyes fixed on mine.
My legs nearly gave out. “Holy shit.”
Another crack of thunder, and the wolf—Milo?—trembled visibly.
“You’re afraid of storms?” I asked weakly.
He nodded again, then lifted one paw that appeared to be bleeding slightly.
“And you’re hurt.” I took a deep breath, trying to process the impossible. “And I’m having a conversation with a wolf in my alley. Perfect. Totally normal Tuesday.”
Rain began to fall, fat drops quickly turning into a downpour. Whatever was happening, I couldn’t leave an injured animal—or possibly my employee—outside in this.
“Can you walk? We should get inside.”
Milo attempted to stand but favored his injured paw, wobbling unsteadily.
“Right.” I approached slowly, hands visible. “I’m going to try to carry you, okay? Please don’t bite me. I don’t have health insurance that covers werewolf attacks.”
He made a sound that was almost like a huff of laughter.
Cautiously, I scooped him up, surprised at how relatively light he was. His fur was softer than I expected, and he was warm—almost hot—against my chest. He tensed briefly, then relaxed, his head tucking against my shoulder.
“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done,” I muttered, carrying him through the back door and up the stairs to my apartment. “And I once dressed as Aquaman for a blind date, so my bar for weird is pretty high.”