I opened the door to our motel room, threw it wide, and reached over to turn on the lights. They blinked once, twice, then stayed on. Kappa bounded inside and started sniffing everything.
Conrad and I stayed in the doorway and looked on in dismay.
Dark faux-wood paneling rose halfway up the dull beige walls. The ceiling fixture had two burnt-out bulbs, but the other two bulbs gave off a weak yellow light that made the already dismal room look jaundiced. There were two twin beds, dwarfed by their matching hideous floral comforters, and each one had only one scrimpy pillow. Across from the beds was an oversized TV stand that had a few drawers and a cupboard that probably hid the mini-fridge. On top of the TV stand was an ancient television set that was two feet deep. Beyond the beds was a minuscule desk with peeling veneer, and a sitting area that included a stained coffee table and a two-seater couch upholstered in balding avocado-green velvet. The door that led to the bathroom was on the far wall.
The whole place had a disturbing, omnipresent smell—as if rancid perfume, mothballs, and dollar-store cleaning fluid had decided to crash a dust bunnies’ party. If the smell was bad enough to bother me, there was no telling what Conrad would make of it.
When I glanced down, he was already giving me a look.
“We should be grateful,” I pointed out. “Ms. Durand said this was the best suite.”
He continued to give me a look.
“Can you imagine what the others must be like?” I said.
Conrad eyed me for another second, then trotted inside. I dragged the luggage through the door, tossed my bag and Kappa’s backpack on the bed closest to me, and tossed Conrad’s bag on the far bed. I put my hands on my hips and let out a content sigh.
Yes, the place was ugly. And smelled bad. And was run by a mannequin and a malevolent fur-gremlin. But for now it was ours, so it was time to make the best of it.
“I better get to work,” I muttered.
I locked the door and went over to the window. The sheer white curtains were already shut. Over them was a set of grubby ivory-colored light-blocking curtains with a headache-inducing mustard-yellow pattern. I shut them, then turned on every light the place had. There was a reading lamp on each nightstand, two above-the-headboard fluorescents, the desk lamp, and the bathroom light. At that point, I wasn’t surprised when none of the light bulbs were the same color temperature. I pulled out the canvas draw-string bag from Kappa’s backpack. It was stuffed with torn strips of cloth. I opened the bag and started hiding them everywhere.
Not hiding them, hiding them. Just, like, putting them in odd places or tucking them into a corner so only a bit of it was showing. It was like “hiding” the plastic eggs for the younger foster kids during Easter. If Kappa couldn’t find them, that meant I’d done something wrong. He was supposed to collect them and weave them into a temporary nest. Iset thought he’d be happier if he had something to keep him busy on his first night away from home, and I figured that he’d be more comfortable because the cloth still smelled like the Noctis mansion.
When I was done, I put the bag away and proudly surveyed my handiwork. It was about time for my bog-buddy to come out and appreciate it. But he wasn’t around.
“Kappa?” I called.
The bathroom door was open. By craning my head, I could see the shadows moving on the back wall of the small room. I walked over and peered inside.
Conrad was resting with his belly and chin on the floor so Kappa would have an easier time reaching his neck. Kappa had Conrad’s rune wrap in both hands, and he was bending toward it, his mouth open and fangs poised.
“Whoa!” I yelled as I threw myself into the room.
Professional baseball players in the final game of the World Series never stole home base with the same amount of desperation and speed that I used to slide in next to Kappa. My shoulder slammed into the exposed pipes under the sink. I didn’t care. I wouldn’t have noticed if I’d given myself a concussion.
Kappa pulled his head back when I launched myself at him, giving me enough room to grab the wrap and inspect it for any shredding. The leather lace was untouched. The air in my body escaped in one big whoof of relief.
“Won’t come off,” he informed me.
I had to bite the inside of my lips when I saw his adorable scowl. This was a serious matter. I shouldn’t smile. I pulled my brows together and dusted off my “serious” voice. “Kappa, if you can’t get the wrap off, you need to call me.”
With all that extra emphasis, maybe Kappa would sense how important it was.
He opened and closed his mouth while going “rawr, rawr, rawr!”
I pulled the wrap toward me. Conrad had to move his head or risk being throttled.
“Yes,” I said, “and I admire your problem-solving skills, but you can’t tear this off with your teeth!”
Conrad edged his head further from Kappa on his own.
“I can,” Kappa insisted.
“No, you can’t,” I insisted harder.
He grinned at me, showing off his long, thin, and (most concerningly) sharp teeth.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“You have very nice teeth, Kappa, but…” I mentally hunted around for something—anything—I could use to convince him. The tornado of my thoughts threw up one of the many bad ideas it was churning around. “This necklace is yucky.”
Kappa’s eyes widened. “Yucky?”
“Very yucky. Super-duper yucky.” I faked retching. “Make you sick.”
“Chocolate?”
“That’s right.” I nodded solemnly. “It’s made of chocolate.”
“Blech.” Kappa made a face and hopped out of the bathroom.
I let go of the wrap and relaxed against the wall behind me. Conrad raised his head, lifted his chest from the floor, and gazed at the empty doorway.
His head swung around to face me when I spoke.
“How about, from now on, I’m in charge of dealing with your rune wrap?”
Conrad got up, walked as far away from me as he could in the dinky bathroom, sat on his haunches, and glared at me.
That meant that every single fluffy creature I’d seen that day had glared at me.
My sigh this time was more aggrieved than anything.
“Look, I’m trying really hard to be respectful of your modesty,” I said to the completely naked wolf in front of me, “but Kappa’s hands don’t have enough dexterity to deal with it.” After a pause, I added, “I promise I’ll close my eyes.”
Conrad didn’t look happy with that proposal. It’s possible he remembered how I’d peered into the bathroom without knocking first.
I stood up. “Fine. Give me a second.”
I went out to the main room. Kappa had already found his first few strips of cloth and was eagerly hunting for more. I pulled Conrad’s bag off his bed, then struggled to remove the oversized comforter. Under it a bleach-stiffened sheet was stretched over the bed. Thankfully, it was also oversized. I pulled it off, took it back to the bathroom, and threw it over Conrad.
He struggled to turn around under the sheet. I knelt down near his back, jerking my knee off his tail as he let out a high-pitched, whiny huff.
“Sorry,” I said.
I pulled the sheet over his back until his head emerged and his triangle ears popped up. He was glaring at me again. At least I deserved it this time.
I reached for the rune wrap and slid the wooden bar through the leather loop at the end.
While keeping my hands near his neck, I sat back on my heels. “Okay. I’ve released it. I’m going to let go and get scarce. It should fall off the moment you shake your head. Are you ready?”
He nodded.
I let go, turned as I stood, and headed for the door. As I shut it behind me, I smiled and shook my head.
Wolfmen. Am I right?
I was sitting on the bed with the thinnest Yellow Pages I’d ever seen open on my lap when Conrad, at his full bipedal height, emerged from the bathroom with the sheet tied at his shoulder and wrapped around him like a toga.
Toga-tying techniques must be some kind of instinctive masculine knowledge—like how females always know how to twist their hair up in a towel.
Kappa was sitting beside me, a strip of cloth dangling out of his mouth. He went “oooooh,” and scampered off the bed toward Conrad.
I was more amused than I was impressed. Conrad looked like a B-movie monster from the 1950s who got lost in the wardrobe department of a sword-and-sandal film. I had to cover my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh.
Conrad picked his bag up off the floor, put it on his stripped bed, and started pulling stuff out of it. “It would’ve worked better if I’d had some clothes in there with me.”
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I said with minimal giggling.
Kappa climbed onto Conrad’s bed.
Conrad glanced at him as he put his pajamas aside and started shoving the rest of the clothes back in. “Are you making a nest?”
The cloth strip in Kappa’s mouth waved as he yelped, “Yes!”
“Good job.” Conrad held out his fist.
Kappa curled his bitty hand into a ball. It disappeared in the fur of Conrad’s fingers when they bumped their fists together.
Conrad said, “Do you know where you’re going to sleep?”
Kappa’s brow creased. He stood up and turned to inspect the room. When he was facing me, I saw his troubled scowl.
“Would you like to sleep on the bed with me?” I asked.
Kappa hesitated, then said, his voice quiet, “Can I?”
“We’ll have to lay the raincoat in your nest, but I don’t mind.”
“Kay!” Kappa took a flying leap and landed back on our bed next to his half-built nest. He removed the strip from his mouth and returned to the complex task of tangling it in with the rest.
Watching the bog-monster work was the most delightful kind of distraction an easily distracted girl could ask for, but the ache of my empty stomach reminded me that I had vital business to attend to. I looked up to ask Conrad what kind of pizza he wanted, but I forgot the question when I saw his face.
He was watching me and Kappa. His expression was soft, but there was something in it that I couldn’t understand.
“What?” I said.
He shrugged and bent over to pick up his pajamas. “I was wondering if the two of you would be okay sharing a bed.”
I scoffed. “We’ll have to be. I don’t think there’s enough room on that bed for you, all by yourself.”
Conrad grunted and rubbed his brow as he considered the mattress in front of him. “All the pictures I’ve seen of motels made it look like they had queen-sized beds.”
I shrugged and returned my attention to the “p” section of the yellow pages. “Every motel is different. This is the first one I’ve ever been in with a couch. It must’ve been the height of luxury”—I waved my hand around—“you know, fifty or sixty years ago. The last time this place was painted.”
“Have you stayed in other motels?”
“Sure. Hasn’t everybody?”
I’d been friends with Conrad long enough that I’d gotten used to the rhythm of our conversations. The misplaced pause after my comment made me look up. Conrad was frowning at the comforter I’d left hanging off the edge of his bed. Since the bedding warranted a full glower or a wince, I figured something else must have been bothering him.
Like a drop of rain hitting a pond, realization struck me.
“Conrad,” I said, “is this your first time in a motel?”
He lifted his bag and set it on the floor next to his nightstand. The bed creaked when he sat on it. He put one leg up on the mattress and faced forward, giving me a good view of his fluffy shoulder. I shut the yellow pages and rolled over so I could see him easier. He kept his head lowered. He was still holding his rolled-up pajamas in one hand.
“When I was young,” he said, “I only ever went camping with my family. When Darius takes me out on missions, we usually stay at someone’s house. I’ve never been in a motel before.”
I should’ve known. Even the most pet-friendly hotel would probably hesitate before letting a wolfman check in.
Conrad raised his muzzle to motion to the room with the tip of his black nose. “Are they all like this?”
“You mean off-putting and spooky, in a dismal, impersonal kind of way?”
He nodded.
“A lot of them,” I said, “but this one takes the flippin’ cake. I wish I could have a quiet word with the decorator.”
“Oh?”
“Do you think blessed silver would work on them? Or would I need holy water?”
Conrad chuckled. As he stood up, he raised the hand that was holding his pajamas and extended a clawed finger to point at me. “Don’t let Darius hear you joke like that.”
“You think he’d be mad?”
“I think he’d never forgive you for implying a vampire would ever be guilty of this kind of monstrosity.”
“I was actually thinking of a demon. What do you use against one of them?”
“I’m not sure, but I’d start with an exorcism.” Conrad took a few steps toward the bathroom.
Before he could get there, I intoned, with all the necessary pomp, “And what kind of pizza would the honored senator from Athens prefer this evening?”
The honored senator called over his shoulder, “Supreme. Extra large.”