Chapter 3
An Enchanting Agreement
Isat alone on a weathered wooden bench outside of a run-down café, the morning sun partially obscured by clouds.
Or maybe it was smog. I wasn’t sure. This was a part of the city I never wanted to end up in, but if this was going to be my life, then I had to find places that would accept a half-turn.
Part of me wanted to break down crying, but the rest was still catching up to my new reality. It was like coming out of the closet all over again, only this time I had no control over it.
Even though my affliction wasn’t obvious yet, I still felt embarrassed enough to hide. My black hoodie and mirrored aviator sunglasses did a good job hiding the thicker body hair and weird orange tint to my irises. My shoes had grown a bit tighter, but thankfully everything else still fit.
I didn’t wake Roscoe before leaving, and I didn’t care anymore if he stayed in my apartment alone. In fact, it became increasingly harder to care about anything. It wouldn’t be long before I was the smelly, vodka-soaked monster at the bus stop, pestering strangers for money.
“Are you gonna come in and order something?” a deep voice called out from inside the building. The door had been propped open with a small trash can that hadn’t been emptied. For a place that served food, it should have been a turn-off, but the werewolves didn’t seem to care.
The last few years of being forced into frugality caused me to hesitate, but what was the point of holding back?
I wasn’t about to waste what little money I had left on bills like rent.
The moment the property managers found out about this, I’d be gone.
They also wouldn’t be legally required to return the rest of my rent or any deposit I’d made.
Flashes ripped through my mind like red lightning as my landlord’s head rolled across the floor, blood dripping from my claws. The scary thing was, I felt like I’d probably do it.
“Fuck it,” I whispered before finally pushing myself off the bench. Every muscle in my body complained at once. Even the walk up here was more exhausting and painful than usual.
As I made my way toward the café counter, several werewolves eyed me, most notably the barista who was tall, silver and surprisingly well-dressed and clean.
“Could I get…” I glanced at the menu on the wall, not knowing the difference between an americano and a cappuccino, but I had always wanted to try something that sounded bougie. “A mocha latte?”
“How do you want it?”
“I don’t know. Mocha-y? Surprise me,” I muttered, trying to stifle my irrational animosity the more I stared at him. It wasn’t as though I hated werewolves, but I wasn’t ready to look my future in the face yet.
The barista got to work on the beverage, and I shuffled to an empty table at the far end of the café, hiding my hands in my pockets and averting my eyes.
The place wasn’t as run-down as it looked from outside; in fact, it was kind of cozy.
The walls were brick, purposely half-finished with cracked Tuscan stucco, giving the inside a bit of old-world charm.
The chairs were antique and solid oak with decades of scratches and wear, while the tabletops had been recently polished.
I lost myself for a moment in the steady, low-fi music trickling through the speakers overhead while staring out the window at the werewolves strolling by.
There wasn’t a single car on the road; I started to wonder if I was even in the city anymore.
It was like I had walked into a portal where everything smelled better and there weren’t many loud noises.
A cup of hot, foamy liquid slid in front of me, pulling my attention back. The silver-furred barista gave a warm, toothy smile before nodding.
“Thanks,” I said, looking back down at the cup.
“Can I get you something else?” His tail swayed softly behind him. “Maybe something to eat?”
“Um, one sec,” I said before taking out my wallet to make sure Roscoe hadn’t decided to help himself to the cash he’d returned last night.
The werewolf grabbed my hand, stopping me. “You don’t pay.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s free,” he replied before pointing to my hoodie. “It’s a little hot in here for that, isn’t it?”
The werewolves sitting at the other tables stared at me while occasionally glancing at each other, each one rigid as if waiting. The classical ambiance of the room suddenly shifted to a bunch of crinkling papers.
“What’s the catch?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. After my last encounter with a werewolf—who was now sleeping in my bed—I couldn’t help but be suspicious.
“New half-turns don’t pay. That’s the policy.”
“Oh,” I said, my face growing hot. “Do I look worse now?”
“It’s not how you look,” he said, pointing to his nose. “You may as well take the coat off. It’s just making you sweat more.”
Another rush of embarrassment hit me as I slowly removed the coat and sunglasses.
The barista gave a nod before walking away, disappearing into the back room.
When he was out of sight, a different werewolf approached, nervously holding a wrinkled sheet of paper.
Three more got up from their tables and rushed over to me, holding similar sheets.
“What’s your name?” a tall, black werewolf asked. The shorter brown one next to him let out a growl before a gray one cut in front. The mood of the place shifted to what I could only describe as polite aggression.
“Cody,” I answered, growing more nervous as the atmosphere of the room grew tense.
“Need a roommate?” the brown one asked.
Before I could answer, all of them slid their papers in front of me and stood waiting, their ears sticking straight up.
“I’ve got a job,” the brown one said with a proud, toothy smirk.
The gray werewolf pushed brown to the side. “He works one day a week at the quarry, and he doesn’t bathe. I don’t have a job, but I’m clean, and I’ll do anything you want. Nothing’s off-limits.”
When the larger black werewolf shoved them both, and they fell into the third, things started getting violent.
Snarls tore through the cafe as punches and claws splattered blood, some getting on my shirt.
As the noise in the café grew louder, the door to the back room swung open, and the barista ran out, banging a pan with a wooden spoon.
“Knock it off!”
Each werewolf went still and silent, turning their attention back to me.
“I’ve got a roommate,” I said, clearing my throat as they each took a seat at the table. I looked down at the papers they placed in front of me earlier. “What’s all this?”
“Stuff about us,” the black werewolf said. “You’re going to need a werewolf roommate.”
“Why?” I asked, picking up one of the wrinkled papers.
It was like reading poorly written resumes.
There was everything from detailed—and at times graphic—physical descriptions as well as what they did for fun, and it was typed in small, bulleted font.
I looked at the others. Each of these profile sheets followed the same template. “I already have a werewolf roommate.”
“It’s too early to make a decision like that,” the barista said, setting a plate of hot apple turnovers in front of me, way more than I could eat alone. “You should at least review a list of candidates first.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Whenever there’s a new half-turn in this part of town, he gets handed these.” The barista pointed at the papers. “You just go through them and pick out which one you like best.”
“You guys… just carry these on you all the time?”
The four werewolves nodded in unison.
“Never know when we’ll get lucky. So, hopefully you’ll choose me,” the gray werewolf said, flashing his eyebrows. “I put a little something in mine that might spark your interest.”
I looked down and read until I got to the bold print. “Dude. That’s kinda gross.”
“I’ll do it, if you want.”
I folded the paper and tossed it with the others. “I’m not interested. Plus, I have a roommate already, like I said.”
They all stared in silence, and I had a feeling they knew I was lying since I hadn’t completely made up my mind about the Roscoe situation.
“That sounds kind of suspicious,” the barista muttered in a contemplative tone. “You might have gotten yourself into a bad situation.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, and took a bite of one of the turnovers.
Before the werewolf could answer, another half-turn entered the cafe with a cocky stride, thankfully taking some of the attention off me.
He wore a black tank top and torn, brown cargo shorts.
Something thicker than body hair covered his arms and chest—like short, peppery fur—though there were places where his dark bare skin showed.
The guy looked a little younger than me, his jawline sharp and hair styled in unruly dreads.
“Perfect timing,” the barista said, waving the guy over.
“What?” he grunted before glaring at me.
“Adam, this is…” The barista trailed off. “What’s your name again?”
“Cody,” I said, extending my hand toward the half-turn.
He didn’t take it. Instead, he eyed the turnovers before snatching one. “Don’t care.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the barista cut me off. “Don’t be rude, you little shit. He’s about to go half-turn.” He smacked the guy on the back of the head. “And those are for him. You owe me two bucks.”
“Aw come on. He’s not gonna eat all these.” The half-turn glanced at the folded sheets of paper in front of me. “Want some advice? Be picky as hell when you decide to let one of these dirty fuckers live with you.”
“Show him your kuu,” the barista said, pointing to a dark, metal choker around Adam’s neck.
“Ah yeah, the trap,” he said, tugging at the choker. It shimmered a little more than it should have in the dim, natural light of the café. He glared at the barista again. “Once you get one of these, you’ve gotta pay for your pastries.”
“Why’s it a trap?” I asked.