You're not what I want.
Wolf didn't argue those words. Didn't stop her when she choked them out, then killed the call. Wolf didn't call her back. Didn't text. Didn't reach out again.
So that's it then. A strange, short, and poignant chapter in their lives. From the moment they met to all those contentious moments in clubs and bars to that quiet, gasping, desperate encounter at the top of the stairs
to that trip through mesoamerica and the jungles of the Amazon
to that strange and sharp dissolution that the wolf still doesn't quite understand. A fractured arc. A truncated line. Done now. Time to set it aside. Move on.
--
Days go by. Weeks. She lives where she lives and she does what she does and perhaps she has to scrape but she does get by. Girl's a survivor, a drifter, rootless and tough. Maybe girl gets it from her father, though it'd kill her to think that.
Wolf lives where he lives and does what he does and perhaps he has to kill but he does get by. Wolf's a predator, a hunter, ferocious and vicious. Maybe he gets it from his mother, though it'd never occur to him to think that.
Wolf defends that church. Wolf carves out a strange little territory for himself, an informal beat that he walks. Coin-op laundromats and mexican grocery stores and the odd ADULT XXX BOOKS VIDEOS TOYS shop. Corner taquerias and neo-hipster housing blocks on the west end, where the wealthy elements start to blend into and gentrify that rougher patches of the city.
Sometimes he takes the 15 bus. Rides it a couple miles. Passes by that little shop with the crescent moon on the sign. Looks out the window, impassive, thoughts locked behind a stilled face. He never gets off the bus. He never goes in the store.
--
And then one day he does. Darkens the door, thickens the air. Stands there confined by the tight shelves and low ceilings, the bare-board floors, the jars full of god-knows-what. Not at all their typical customer. Not a whiff of new-age about him. Big, intimidating, brutal, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.
Maybe they remember him from the last time he was here. Months ago, that.
Comes to the counter after a while. Frowns, eyes flicking side to side. No one talks to him. Nearly everyone watches. He stands there a moment, indecisive.
Then the beast growls:
"You know a Devon?"
witchMarch, now. Weather rockets up and down and sideways: cold and wet, cold and dry, cold then suddenly warm, warm and wet, summery all of a sudden only to be interrupted by snowfall. At Cold Crescent, a certain Silver Fang keeps an eye on Rafael, quietly and privately considering him. At his house, the second bedroom remains empty. The church he protects, thinks of as somewhat his own now, continues with their Lenten services, preparations for Easter.
Devon lives downtown with Naomi. People come and go. They throw parties. She reads cards, makes a really good hangover cure that her friends rely on. Tell her to bottle it. She rolls her eyes. Lets strangers pay her for reading their cards. Sometimes her eyes go far away and she tells them something really true, something really unsettling or really hopeful and sometimes it's weeks later that it comes true and they come back to her, asking for more. It's really not enough to live on, given how much it tires her out when she does it too much.
She can also read cards, and get paid, while faking it. Does that, too. But now she well and truly lives with Naomi and she needs to help out.
--
They don't run into each other much. They live on different schedules. Perhaps they even actively avoid each other, though that would be next to impossible to do, since neither of them have a strict routine to go off of. He hunts. She gets a job and she talks to her mom and she parties with her friends and she tells strangers their future.
Sometimes he looks at the store with the crescent moon. And does not go in,
until he does,
and she's not there. He feels no trace of Fianna here, and of course: no scent. Mostly he smells the different candles, incense, oils. Sees statues of goddess and god, green men, angels, kali, ganesha, herne, king arthur, the empress. Large round mirrors, small flat pentacles, bells, stones, books. So many books.
Young woman with brown hair and a long skirt behind the counter, watching him carefully. Doesn't acknowledge him though, and pretends not to be watching him, until he comes over to the counter and the need to run her business kicks in.
"May I help you?" she asks, politely as you please, though it isn't hard to tell that she would rather not be helping him. Or talking to him, or standing within arm's reach of him.
And then he mentions Devon, and she gets a memory-flash of him standing outside the store with a certain skinny young woman, and she brightens. Too quickly to remember that this man is unsettling and could be dangerous and she should lie, or refuse. He says a name she knows, and --
"Devon Paredes?" she confirms, before thinking: maybe this guy is an ex. Maybe this guy is bad news. Maybe she should be more careful. He can see her eyes shuttering after she says it, but it's a bit late: yes. She knows a Devon. The Devon he's looking for, in fact. Sees her closing up a bit, reverting to her previous polite reservation.
wolfmanHe is an ex.
He is bad news.
So yeah, maybe girl behind the counter should be more careful. But it's too late. Words are out. Not Devon who or a blank stare but a name, Devon Paredes, which sounds strange to the wolf because he's never heard anyone else say her name before. Full name, like that. Kind of felt like an intimate little secret between just the two of them, though he knows it wasn't.
Wolf nods, confirmatory. Devon Paredes. And he swipes knuckles quick across his nose, sniffs. Looks down at the counter, back at the girl.
"She still come around here?"
witchThe woman takes a short sip of air, thinking this through. "Can I... ask why you're asking?"
wolfmanWolf glares across the counter. "How's that your business?"
Beat. Then he relents: "I'm looking for her. Just want to talk to her. Have her number. Not some crazy stalker."
witchHe can see her color fade a bit, her eyes go a tad glassy. Human begins are spoiled, fat predators, but they are predators nonetheless. But this one is not a hunter. Faced with another, larger, greater predator than herself, a true threat, she pulls back and makes herself smaller by instinct, rather than growling back. He can even see her shrink a bit, that natural attempt to show him that she's no threat to him, pass her by, let her live. Don't hit me.
Don't eat me.
Truth is, if he were not what he is, this woman happens to have quite a lot of backbone. Runs her own store. Has been through years here, late weird nights and weirder people. She's been threatened. She's confronted shoplifters. She has a spine. If he were just another ex-boyfriend with too many muscles, claiming he's not a crazy stalker, she'd simply tell him no, turn him down.
Rafael's not normal. Rafael's not even human. And though her mind can't wrap around that reality, can't face it, her instincts sense it.
"Then... why don't you call her?" she asks, not realizing how small her voice sounds. How careful.
wolfman"How," repeats the wolf, slowly, like she's a goddamn idiot, "is that any of your business?"
And he's leaning on the counter now. Hands are fists. Body's looming over it. Stays there a beat, glaring. Pushes off hard, then. Turns and walks the fuck out.
--
Girl gets a text:
was looking for you. can we meet somewhere and talk
wolfmanHalf a city away, odd little smile pangs across wolf's mouth. So. Girl got herself a real job. Went honest. Paying the bills.
Either that or she was hooking. On Colfax. But wolf doubts that sort of thing lets her off at five.
see you then.
--
Takes him a while to get over there. Has a car, has a bike, has a goddamn chauffeur but he takes the bus. Transfers twice, misses one, waits twenty minutes for the next.
Still ends up half an hour early. See him walking down the street, reading street signs and numbers. See him stopping in front of the coffee shop, scowling at the semi-cutesy name that makes no sense. Door opens and some other customer comes out, startling at the sight of him. Wolf catches the door and comes in, taking his hands out of his pockets, unzipping his jacket to ventilate.
witchShould tell him that for all she knows he's some psychotic ex who might hurt Devon. Should tell him that Devon's her friend, or at least someone she knows. Should ask him: if there were any chance someone might want to hurt Devon, or even give her a rotten day, or make a fool of her at work, would he want her to just blab to them?
But she doesn't think of any of that. She becomes very still, taking a step back. And when he leaves she finds herself holding her breath, letting out a thick exhale.
--
Devon gets two texts.
One is from a herbalist and witch: guy looking 4 u. didnt tell him anything. u ok?
And one is from Rafael. Looking for her.
She is on her break, some time after both of these texts come in and are not answered. She sits with her feet up, eating part of a semi-stale scone. Texts back in order:
I'm okay. Thanks.
Nothing else. No indication that she knows who the guy was, or that she cares. No indication that she feels scared or worried. Confirms that she's safe, she's okay.
She thinks a little harder about the other text, and longer. It's been almost half an hour since it was sent.
yeah.
Just to get that out there. First thing. She can read timestamps; she wonders if he is waiting.
She thinks he must be waiting, must wonder, if only in the back of his mind. Because it's been weeks since he told her she didn't want him, and she said she didn't, and if he's texting her now either something is going on or --
Devon tries not to overthink it. She just hits send, and then taps out another:
hooked on colfax. i get off at 5 today but you can come before if you want.
wolfmanHalf a city away, odd little smile pangs across wolf's mouth. So. Girl got herself a real job. Went honest. Paying the bills.
Either that or she was hooking. On Colfax. But wolf doubts that sort of thing lets her off at five.
see you then.
--
Takes him a while to get over there. Has a car, has a bike, has a goddamn chauffeur but he takes the bus. Transfers twice, misses one, waits twenty minutes for the next.
Still ends up half an hour early. See him walking down the street, reading street signs and numbers. See him stopping in front of the coffee shop, scowling at the semi-cutesy name that makes no sense. Door opens and some other customer comes out, startling at the sight of him. Wolf catches the door and comes in, taking his hands out of his pockets, unzipping his jacket to ventilate.
witchWhen Rafael gets to the place, he finds it just a block or so east from the store where he first looked for Devon. It's cozy inside, less cutesy than its name. There are big black leather couches downstairs, and they're starting to switch over to serving beers and wine instead of just coffee.
He finds her instantly. She's across the way, wearing concrete-colored jeans tucked into a pair of slouchy flat boots. Her tank top is ruched slightly, a deep red, skimming that slender body and -- quite frankly -- hugging her tits. The neckline scoops downward. She has on a brown and red flannel like a jacket, the cuffs undone. Her hair is piled up behind her head, half ponytail and half bun. No jewelry but the bits in her ears: a tiny steel one engraved to look like a sugar skull, a blue plastic bead, a miniature hoop, a single dangling teardrop pearl. Which is fake.
She sees him, too. Looks over at him while he unzips his jacket. He sees her take a breath as she returns her attention to an order she's being given. Wears one of those little aprons. Carries pens and makes her tips.
It's not a restaurant. No one seats him. He can go anywhere he wants. Devon doesn't come around. Not til after a little while, when she passes the table he's at carrying a tray of beers and snacks and the like.
Pauses momentarily, and without talking to him or making eye contact, sets down a plate with a banana-nut muffin. Keeps walking.
--
About forty-five minutes later, maybe a bit longer, the recently vanished Devon comes out of the bag carrying her backpack. Her hair is down and brushed out. She may or may not have applied a quick flick of lip gloss. She's folded up her apron and put it in her backpack. Someone says bye to her and she comes back over to him, slowing down the closer she gets to his table.
wolfmanPlace is nicer than he expects. Didn't know what he expected. Feared something awful though, some stinking little hellhole of $1 coffee and $3 bud lights where customers pawed at the waitresses. This, though: it's nice. Cozy. Just a touch swanky with those big leather couches, though the low ceilings and warm lighting save it from true extravagance. Keep it small, indie, speakeasy-esque.
Wolf strips out of his jacket. Picks out a seat in the back, at a table, in a chair. No big couch for him. He tosses his jacket over an empty chair, sinks into another. Watches the girl unabashedly, his eyes following her as she goes here and there. Takes orders and drops them off.
Looks so good in that top. Those boots. Looks so good with those deliberately mismatched earrings. That curling, secret little smile.
--
He gets a muffin. He watches her coming over but she doesn't watch him. She drops the pastry off and by then he's gotten a cup of coffee, just whatever's on drip, whatever's cheapest. She's not his waitress; someone else took his order and brought it to him. Maybe that someone else leaned over as he passed the girl, muttered
that dude's been staring at you this whole time. want me to call the cops or something?
But the cops aren't called and the wolf isn't dragged off in chains. He looks at the muffin with surprise and -- blink and you'd miss it -- delight. Plucks the wrapper off the bottom and pulls it apart, eats it with his hands. Washes it down with black coffee.
Girl's shift ends and her apron comes off. She comes out of the back and he's done with his muffin. Sees her coming. Drains the last of his coffee, long since cold, and stands up as she approaches. Eyes flick over her shoulder, back.
Every thought's fled his head. He's as uncomfortable in his skin as the first time, tense, his tongue stupid.
He finally comes up with, "You got a job."
witchIt's a bit hipster. But it's chill enough. Some people are coming through for a meetup downstairs, chatting about 'lenormand' something. Devon glances over at him; wiggles her fingers in hello at one of them. They glance at Rafael and keep walking. She turns back to him.
She knew, even before a well-meaning coworker told her, that he's been watching her for the last half hour. Right up until she vanished into the back at the end of her shift to clock out and get her stuff.
Comb her hair. Put on lip gloss.
--
So now she's standing there, and he gets up. They apparently are not staying. Which is fine; this is where she works, not where she wants to hang out. He asked her if they could talk. And when he gets there, he says the obvious.
Devon's eyebrows lift slightly. Says: "I got a job."
She glances over her shoulder, around, then nods toward the door. Starts to move that way, holding her hand behind her, out to him. "Come with me."
wolfmanHand held out to him's as unexpected as the muffin. Wolf takes it hesitantly, with that same secret delight. Of course it's a secret. Big tough thing like him. Wouldn't want anyone to think he had such a thing as a heart. Or vulnerabilities.
He picks his jacket up and pulls it on. Zips it. Then his hand folds around hers. Warm and strong and rawboned. They walk outside into the cold, where he zips his jacket all the way to his chin with his free hand. His breath escapes him, visible, white, ghosting away on the wind. He's still holding her hand when they get out on the sidewalk.
Arrests her motion like that, tugging her back around to face him before she can lead him -- wherever she's leading him. Wolf's eyebrows knit together over his eyes. He looks down at her, intent, struggles a long time with himself.
"I love you, Devon Paredes," he says. "Still don't get why it's so important for you to hear it. But it's important to you. Guess that's enough for me."
witchShe takes his hand, and she only half looks at him when she does so, not wanting to see his hesitation, his reluctance. Which isn't there. She might see something else.
Devon leads him outside. And out of the coffee shop (and bar) she's already stepped out of the way of the door and is turning toward him again, stepping close to him, when he starts to tug on her. Makes her give a little scuff-hop to keep from tripping. Is looking up at him about to say something when he says something.
And arrests. While he says something that to him feels stilted, and formal, and halfhearted, and insincere. He says it in a stilted, formal way, but it isn't insincere. Her eyebrows push together when he tells her he doesn't get why it's important for her to hear it, and he can feel her almost pull away then, reject what makes the first part sound... well. Halfhearted. But he's still talking. And he says what he says next.
Doesn't ask him if he means it. Because she knows it. Knew it.
"I don't want you to be someone you're not," she says quietly, her cheeks flushed. It's chilly but not cold outside. She's okay in her flannel, mostly. The sun hasn't gone completely down yet. She says that, and stops there. She thinks he might understand. She hopes he does. Her hand is still in his. "I love you."
wolfmanWolf's frown hasn't cleared. He doesn't smile. Something in his eyes nonetheless; softer and warmer than whatever rough aspect it is he shows the world. Whatever terrifying, bestial face it is he wears that has all her friends texting her asking if she's okay, if she's in trouble, if this guy is trouble, what.
His hand gives hers a little squeeze. He steps a little closer to her. Puts his back to the wind, puts her in his shadow. It's not even conscious.
"Yeah," he says. "I know." Shrugs a little. "Just forgot because I was mad. And stubborn. Took a while to figure it out."
witchDoesn't say anything to that. She looks up at him, higher, since he steps closer. She holds his hand.
"I was going to tell you I was sorry," she says quietly.
wolfmanQuick shake of his head to that, almost before she's done speaking. This is not a test: "What the hell do you have to be sorry for?"
witchHer brow is furrowed. Aching. "It's hard to explain. But I just am."
Devon's thumb moves over his hand. "Come home with me."
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