The Forsaken (Black Arrowhead #9)

Chapter 1

After sealing the last vent on the roof, I sat on the ridge and listened to the hungry coyotes circling the house.

They were noisy, dramatic, and adamantly against my presence.

A band of coyotes had hired me to assist them with a new roof.

Their alpha had given them an explicit order not to shift in my presence, but for whatever reason, they’d collectively decided this was the day to torment Virgil Nightingale.

Since they wouldn’t let me climb down the ladder, I worked to completion with no intention of returning to this insanity farm.

The sun had been down so long that even the lightning bugs had gone to bed. While the electric lanterns the band provided helped me finish, my back hurt, my neck hurt, and all I wanted was a shower.

I cupped my hands around my mouth. “I have a life, you know!”

“They won’t harm you,” the alpha called out.

“Sure, that’s what they all say,” I muttered. “If I were an owl, I’d fly my ass outta here.”

Turning my gaze skyward, I marveled at the infinite universe and all her mysteries cloaked behind a sparkling black veil.

Populated cities were so polluted that it dulled the brilliant stars.

While I missed the clubs, the food, and the concerts, I didn’t miss all the ghosts.

They were at every turn, desperately seeking a Gravewalker to harass.

Gazing up at the luminous moon, I reflected on the trippy direction my life had taken.

Before moving to Storybook, I was depressed about my life.

My wolf yearned for a home—for a pack. But joining a random pack was not only difficult but risky, and plenty had turned me away for being part Gravewalker.

So when I responded to Tak’s ad—especially after learning how many applicants he’d rejected—I pretended to be a full-blooded wolf.

My secret would come out eventually, so why give them a reason to single me out before they got to know me?

After all, I was worth getting to know.

A couple of years had passed since I came out, and my insecurities were as predictable as Mel and Lakota going at it whenever Bear made peach pie.

Were my packmates secretly waiting for me to screw up so they’d have a reason to kick me out?

Those thoughts tangled around the fact that they still saw me as a Shifter, but I was also a Gravewalker, and that couldn’t be switched off.

Sure, things were quiet now, but how long before some deranged apparition latched on and drove me to the brink of insanity?

I’d successfully avoided the ghosties in town, but new ones always popped into the bar unexpectedly, likely hitching a ride from outsiders who traveled from all over to hang out at Dragonfly’s.

A shooting star streaked across the night sky, inspiring me to sing a bar from a popular Pinocchio song.

The coyotes yipped and yapped, their annoying and persistent cadence driving me to my feet.

With a noisy yawn, I stretched my arms and gazed down at the sprawling darkness.

In my nearly two hundred years of walking this earth, I’d rarely given a thought to what happened after death.

When you see spirits in the realm between life and death, it leaves no doubt that an afterlife exists.

My only fear was dying without having fully lived.

After cartwheeling along the peak, I dramatically kicked the lanterns to the opposite side, each one noisily skittering down the roof and crashing onto the grass, which sent the coyotes into a frenzy. Maybe that would distract the little shits long enough for me to escape.

Those people disgusted me. Not only had I shown them how to properly install a new roof, but most of them flaked out and left all the work to me.

That wasn’t part of our agreement, and what thanks did I get?

Sitting on the roof when I should be at home, eating and binge-watching a few Love Boat episodes before snoozing on the couch.

When a coyote zipped into view, I narrowed my eyes. “If anyone chews off my leg, I’m charging double.”

One of them jumped at the ladder.

“Hey! Chill out, compadre.”

The alpha whistled, but only three left the scene. Eventually he walked into view. Fritz was not only built like a Viking, but his foot-long beard guaranteed him a spot in Valhalla.

He held the ladder. “You did good work. I’ll send payment to your accountant tomorrow.”

Mercy was the accountant, and she managed all the pack money.

A percentage of all jobs was deposited into the primary account to assist with food, expenses, repairs, business ventures, emergencies, and future savings.

The rest went into our individual accounts to spend however we liked.

That was hard to get used to at first, but it made sense. We were a pack.

Unfortunately, Storybook didn’t have an abundance of entertainment options to spend money on, but a savings account meant future music concerts and vacations.

Man, I need to get out of town and have some fun.

Road trips were a gas, and I hadn’t been on one since traveling here by bus.

Halfway down the ladder, I carefully turned around. “I left a tool bag on the roof, so make sure you return that to me. Call off the hounds.”

He shrugged. “Can’t. They’re out for the night, and you’re on our territory. They’re doing what’s in their DNA.”

I took off my fedora and fanned myself. “My DNA is about to starve to death. I also need a shower.”

“If you want, I can hose you off.”

“A free show will cost extra.”

While the coyotes threatened to turn me into a meal, I leaned back, folded my arms, and waited for Fritz to figure this out.

Fritz sucked his teeth while contemplating. He glanced over his shoulder at Tak’s white pickup truck before he backed up against the ladder. “Climb on.”

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that…

“And do what exactly?” I asked, hiding my amusement.

“I’ll carry you to the truck.”

I hooked my right leg over his shoulder. “Now I know where the phrase ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ comes from.” When I slung my left leg over his other shoulder, I was straddling his head like a topless girl on her boyfriend’s shoulders at a rock concert.

Fritz cursed and knocked the coyotes away as they excitedly jumped and nipped at my shoes. When he stumbled on a step that led down the driveway, my life flashed before my eyes.

He caught himself on the handrail. “Oops.”

“Oops,” I parroted. “Almost fed you to my family. Thanks for fixing my roof, but you’re too delicious to set free.”

“Cut that shit out or I’ll drop you.”

My head thumped against a low tree branch, and I ducked.

When we reached the truck, Fritz said, “In you go!” and pushed me through the open driver’s-side window like an Italian shoving a pizza into a hot brick oven.

I scrambled back into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine.

One of the coyotes jumped at the window while snapping its pointy teeth.

I dug around in the glove compartment and pulled out a pack of gum.

Mint was strong, so I unwrapped a few pieces and pitched them through the open window.

The scent distracted him, and he hopped down to sniff it.

Then I rolled up the window and gave him the finger.

Fritz crossed in front of my headlights and clapped his hands to call off his family. Fearing I might run over one, I pressed the horn and startled them.

“I want a bonus!” I yelled out before speeding away. A tan coyote sprinted after me, and as the truck accelerated, he became a tiny dot in my rearview mirror.

I set my fedora on the dash and opened the windows so I wouldn’t stink up the truck. After working twelve hours straight on a hot roof, I was ready for a shower, a meal, and a shift. My hat and long sleeves protected me from sunburn but not from smelling like an overripe onion.

I didn’t have the good fortune of loving my work.

The hazards alone were unappealing, like the time I drove a nail through my foot because of a manufacturer’s defect on the nail gun.

But home repair was a skill that started at an early age.

Not everyone in the 1800s farmed. We lived in the city, and since it was just my mother and me, I learned how to do all the repairs.

She struggled to make enough money as a seamstress, so I worked as a helper for carpenters and other tradesmen to earn a few coins.

Sometimes you don’t pick your career; your career picks you.

I breathed a sigh of relief when our gate came into view. Once I made it to the house, I parked in the garage and headed to the back door, which we usually left unlocked. Catcher barked once before recognizing my scent.

“Holding down the fort?” I asked, touching his wet snout while he pretended to bite my fingers. “One of these days, you’re going to shift and not know who the hell we are.” I marched up the back steps. “Just don’t kill me. I fed you hamburger patties under the table, so remember that.”

I went to investigate why the kitchen light was on and laughed at Bear, who was shirtless and leaning against the island on his elbows while eating his one hundredth Tootsie Roll. That thick-framed woolly mammoth played excellent guitar, and sometimes we’d sit out back while I sang a tune.

“What mischief is this?” I quipped.

He glanced over his shoulder while picking his teeth. “I shifted a bit ago,” he replied in his Texas drawl. “They don’t make these things big enough.”

After opening the fridge and pulling out the orange juice, I held the cold bottle against my sore neck. “Sure they do. Full-sized bars.”

His eyes lit up. “I never see those at the store.”

“I’ll order you some from the internet.”

He straightened before collecting all the wrappers in his hands. “How did your job go?”

“Don’t ask. Fritz is sending my money over tomorrow by messenger, so let Mercy know.”

“You bet.”

After guzzling the juice, I set the empty bottle on the counter. “Any leftovers? Tell me it’s something tasty like beef stew. That’s my favorite, wink-wink.”