Page 16 of Howl Will I Know

People drink coffee every day. Entire industries depend on it. No reason that mine should matter more because it came from Nora Moon.

The Sin Bun is gone too.

I stand at the sink with the empty paper bag beside me and look through the window toward number fourteen.

Her curtains are open, and every few minutes, Nora passes through the living room carrying something. A box, a stack of books, a plant nearly as wide as she is. She disappears, returns, and vanishes again, apparently incapable of crossing a room without bringing half her possessions with her.

I should close my shutters.

Instead, I take another drink. The coffee is annoyingly good. Not too strong. No sugar. No milk. I don’t know whether she guessed or asked somebody. Neither option improves my mood.

My wolf has been awake since she left. Not agitated—that would be easier. I know what to do with agitation. Run. Work. Shift if I have to. Put enough distance between myself and whatever has set him off until instinct burns itself down.

This is different.

He’s calm. Watchful. Interested. Every time Nora moves past her window, his attention follows.

“You’re embarrassing.”

He ignores me.

I finish the coffee, rinse the cup immediately, then put it in the drying rack and stare at it.

Still hers.

I move it to the far side of the counter.

Better.

Outside, something crashes.

My head snaps toward the window. Nora appears in her doorway carrying one end of a bookshelf. A man I recognize from the south side of town has the other. He’s talking. Nora laughs at something he says, then adjusts her grip and backs carefully toward the porch.

The wolf rises inside me, a low tension gathering beneath my ribs. My shoulders lock, my jaw tightens, and every sense I have fixes on the sound of Nora laughing with another man.

It isn’t quite a growl—more like the warning before one.

I look at the man. Human. Mid-thirties. Works at the hardware store. Has never given me a reason to dislike him. The wolf dislikes him anyway.

“For helping her move a shelf?”

His ears flatten.

I turn away from the window. This is exactly why I don’t involve myself with people. A man shouldn’t have to explain basic social structures to the animal occupying his nervous system.

I take my toolbox to the shed. I have jobs in there that don’t need doing, but I sharpen two blades anyway. Rehang a rake, replace the handle on a hammer that doesn’t need replacing. By the time I finish, the sun has shifted, and I’ve successfully avoided looking toward Nora’s cottage for nearly forty minutes.

Then I hear her laugh again. The hammer stops halfway into the toolbox, and I close my eyes.

The wolf leans toward the sound.

“No.”

Another laugh, softer this time.

I go inside. The house is quiet. Usually, that’s the point, but today it feels empty.

I open the refrigerator, stare into it, and close it again. I have meat, eggs, and half a loaf of bread. Enough to feed myself. Nothing I want.