Chapter 27 Elijah
Elijah
Molly and I have fallen into an unspoken rhythm after the holiday weekend, one where we don’t have to make plans to see each other after work, it’s just a given that some way or another, one of us will end up at the other’s apartment, and I will be sleeping in her bed.
Or, well, she sleeps, I watch her, or read, or watch some of the movies and shows she’s tasked me with, wired headphones plugged into her iPad while she softly snores tucked into my side.
The access she allows me into her life is not something I take for granted; I hope it never gets less thrilling to watch movies with her, Molly telling me to focus, and then talking through a quarter of the movie about what’s happening on screen.
I love the way her tongue tastes after she’s eaten a bag of buttery popcorn or a sleeve of red liquorice while sharing a blanket with me on her couch.
Being with Molly makes me remember being human, her pure joy and excitement over a delicious meal, quiet contentment in feeling the sun on her skin through a window, and the way she falls asleep with a slight smile on her face.
And all the while, she pulls my mouth down to hers, kisses me stupid, undoes me with her hands or her lips, and doesn’t complain when I wake her with my tongue lapping the sweetness of her molten centre.
I shower with her in the evenings, and she doesn’t fuss when I ask to wash her hair.
She lets me give her massages after work, lets me hold her to my chest while she sleeps.
Friends, I remind myself. This can’t be more than friends.
Tonight, we sit in Dylan’s apartment, quietly reading, a record playing on Dylan’s player.
It’s past seven and Molly has her feet on my lap; Gemma is bundled up on Molly’s stomach.
I do believe the traitorous beast likes Molly infinitely more than it likes me, but in all fairness, I would pick her over myself, too.
‘Bro, I am totally fucked,’ Dylan says as soon as he enters the apartment. ‘Oh hi, Molly.’
She sits up on the couch. Gemma grumpily meows at the disruption before settling back down in a new spot next to me.
Dylan sheds his coat and his suit jacket, then yanks at his tie. His hair looks a mess, like he’s been pulling on it.
He squints at Molly, obviously debating something, and she shifts nervously, closing her book entirely while we wait. Dylan sighs and sits down on the leather chair to the left of the couch.
Without fanfare, he says, ‘Molly, I’m a werewolf.’
‘So we’re doing this,’ I mutter, putting my book down too. Gemma vacates the couch as both Molly and I sit up to engage fully in this conversation with Dylan.
To Molly’s credit, she takes this news very well, blinking at my best friend and then slowly nodding for him to go on, too stunned to speak or dutifully biting her tongue from all the questions I know she is desperate to ask. Not the time, she can probably sense, from his tense mood.
‘There are a lot of legends about werewolves but the full moon thing is true,’ Dylan explains. ‘Like get me outside on a full moon night and it’s game over. I’m not waking up clothed in bed, I’m going to be bare ass naked in the woods–it’s how Elijah found me outside of his house.’
‘That’s true, it was.’
‘All right,’ Molly says.
‘Problem is, my company’s got a mandatory team leadership trip booked for the week of the next full moon.’
‘Oh.’ Molly tilts her head side to side. ‘Sounds like the perfect excuse to get out of a work trip. Just say you have strep.’ I don’t know why I had any doubt that she’d take the news of Dylan’s non-human existence as well as she took mine. Molly is one of a kind in this, I think.
Dylan slides his palms down his face and groans. ‘That’s the thing. I’m screwed out of a promotion if I back out.’
Molly sucks her teeth in a sound of sympathy.
‘Well, no matter what you do, a four-hundred-and-nine-year-old vampire might con his way into the position anyway.’ Molly winks at me then turns her attention back to my roommate, who looks like he might melt right into the leather in this unyielding anguish.
‘Don’t know how you didn’t kill Elijah for that. I would’ve.’
‘Still might,’ Molly says and pinches my wrist. Her thigh bumps against mine, and I press mine against hers likewise. I’ve determined that, if I only have Molly for a short time, I want to be touching her as often as is possible. To this end, I rest my hand on her leg, thrilling at the touch.
‘Where is the retreat happening?’ I ask.
‘At some lodge. Two full days, three nights.’ Dylan holds up three fingers then lets his hand drop with a thump on his lap.
Molly frowns. ‘In December? Seems cruel.’
‘What kind of lodge?’ I ask. ‘If there are trees around, could you just stow clothes somewhere and run into the wild while everyone sleeps? Back by sunrise?’
Dylan mulls this idea over, squinting and rolling his bottom lip between his fingers.
‘It’s dangerous,’ he says finally. ‘The pack house is secluded, as far away from humans as we can reliably get in the state of New York. The lodge is in a forest, but there will be a ton of people around, including twelve of my colleagues.’
Dylan is a generational werewolf, in that both of his parents are werewolves, though his father was turned. Werewolves are either born or turned by the bite of a werewolf on a full moon. Similar to vampirism, not every attempt equals a new werewolf, but most of them will.
‘And you’re worried you might kill someone?’ Molly asks.
‘No!’ Dylan says, offence obvious. Molly shrugs because, no really, how was she supposed to know? I rub my thumb back and forth over a spot above her knee and she leans closer. ‘I don’t kill people. I run around, hunt some rabbits, roll in the dirt, chase other wolves.’
‘Okay, fine, good. Sounds harmless,’ Molly says. ‘What’s the issue?’
‘I don’t want to bite someone. I’m thirty-five and haven’t made any werewolves yet. Feels like I’m tempting fate.’
‘How important is this promotion?’ I ask. Dylan has his own office–how many more promotions can he need? ‘Skipping the trip eliminates the risk of having to explain to your coworkers what a heat is.’
‘Oh my God,’ Molly whispers, shooting me a glance like she very much would like to know about heats immediately.
‘Focus,’ Dylan says, and Molly drops all talk of heats.
‘Is Matty going?’ she asks instead.
I’ve heard her call Matt this before, perhaps an old habit born from years of closeness. I loathe the sound of it from her lips.
‘No, dude, I think I would die if I had to spend a weekend of corporate bonding with him.’
‘Well then at least you don’t run the risk of turning the worst person you know?’ she offers. ‘If going is so important to you, tell a couple lies and duck out early the night of the full moon to go kill some rabbits or whatever.’
Dylan drums his fingers on the wooden arms of his chair then nods.
‘Fuck this is a bad idea,’ he says. I’m inclined to agree with him. Dylan sighs then shrugs. ‘All right, I’m doing it. Good talk.’
‘Good talk,’ I echo, and squeeze Molly’s knee. She presses her lips together to suppress a laugh.
Dylan rises from the chair and heads for his room. He pauses at his bedroom door, tie in hand, and looks over his shoulder. ‘You’re cool, Molly,’ he says. ‘I’m glad Elijah took your promotion.’
‘Thanks, Dylan,’ she says, and the soft lines by her eyes make me hope she might be a little glad of it too.
When his door shuts behind him, she looks to me with the wide-eyed shock I know she’s been feeling since he revealed his secret. She mouths werewolf and we both laugh, my hand still holding her thigh.
‘You free? I need your help,’ Molly says, leaning her head and shoulder on my office’s door frame.
Today she’s wearing a maroon dress that flows over her hips and legs, a long row of buttons down the front.
I blink away thoughts of kneeling in front of her and sliding my palms up those thighs beneath the fabric.
‘Hm?’
She gives a knowing smirk, my craving for her too obvious.
‘I need your help with a request on fourteen,’ she says.
Molly doesn’t need my help with anything, so instead she must want my company.
I’m unbelievably pleased by this news but maintain my composure, only standing without question and following her out.
Devi smiles as cheerfully as she always does as we walk past, and the older, bald, security guard who loves Molly asks how her day’s going.
She tells him that the day is better because he’s working and he’s so charmed that I think she could probably get away with a great Drummond heist and he would wilfully look the other way.
‘That guy loves you,’ I remark when we get into one of the elevators.
‘Oh yeah, he reminds me of my dad.’
‘Are you close? You and your father?’
‘Yeah.’ Molly smiles a bit wistfully. ‘He’s really great. Both of my parents are. They feel like the big city is a little too big for them. They’ve visited a few times, though.’
‘They must be very proud of you.’ Molly’s shoulders stiffen slightly–I’ve said the wrong thing again–before she exhales and nods.
‘They’re very loving.’
I want to ask more, to pick at what appears to be an emotional scab on my Molly’s heart, but the elevator’s doors slide open.
Molly steps off onto the fourteenth floor and swipes her card to let us into the office space.
It’s sleepier than the other floors, not even a receptionist at the desk to greet us, but Molly doesn’t look concerned, leading us past the lobby and down the long hallway of conference rooms.
‘Rare to get a request on this floor,’ I remark. It’s only a few sparsely populated group offices and meeting rooms so far as I can tell.
‘I was bullshitting,’ she says simply. ‘I have a very good-bad idea.’
‘And what’s that?’