Maizie took a better look at herself. She made a big wolf, probably normal for werewolves, but scary big for a natural wolf. Her fur had a darker cast than her normal hair except for the strawberry blonde on the tips of her ears and tail, which she could now see if she bent around at the right angle.
Her eyes were the same green they’d always been, but the shape was different, more almond-like, longer. Maybe that’s why her vision seemed clearer.
Holy cow, it was hot. Her mouth lolled open as she watched, her tongue flopping out to the side. She panted, stopped herself, and then did it anyway. It cooled her and it was better than drinking out of the toilet which was another horrifying urge pounding through her brain. She had to get out of the cottage before she did something completely gross.
Maizie nudged the door open with her nose and jogged down the stairs. Her heart beat faster at just the thought of open air, free space to run, a forest to explore. She wound through the living room into the sunroom then out the back door. The screen door smacked closed against the wood frame behind her, giving her a start, but she kept moving.
The sun was below the horizon, its soft glow fading fast. Beyond the threshold to the forest, it was as good as full night, and Maizie could see perfectly. No wonder she hadn’t been able to escape Gray’s family last night. She’d been running blind while they’d toyed with her. Jerks.
She pushed the thought away, allowing the night to steal her focus. The forest was alive before her, not just teeming with a billion heartbeats but with colors and scents and sounds. So many things were endlessly fascinating, the army of ants marching in streaming lines carrying bark and leaves and bug carcasses.
The pungent odor of a skunk that’d passed by hours ago took her one way before the trail of a groundhog and her young turned her around.
An owl called to its mate overhead and a bat swooped so low she tried to jump and catch it. A crop of purple wood violets scented the air in one spot and a patch of bunchberries had her stomach growling in another. She could actually taste sweet tree sap on her muzzle and the bitter flavor of fox spray by accident.
Somewhere deep in the forest, a buck scraped his antlers on a tree and three does in season stirred, waiting for his arrival. Maizie’s heart raced, her muscles jittery, anxious for the hunt. If she chased them they’d run. She probably couldn’t catch them, but it didn’t matter. They’d run.
The thought entered her mind and her body obeyed. She sliced through the forest with a speed and grace that defied reason, defied gravity. She knew things, where the log she couldn’t see lay across her path up ahead, how low the thorny limbs of a branch dangled in the darkness, which stones to hit across the stream that wouldn’t topple her into the water.
She knew when to veer to the left, duck to the right or change direction to save time in the long run. The forest spoke to her, told her its secrets, welcomed her into its fold. Nature, the forest, the plants and animals, they were parts of the whole and so was she.
The deer were beyond a thicket five hundred yards away, grazing on the sparse grass of the forest floor. They hadn’t smelled her approaching downwind or heard her running with stealth, keeping to the soft earth and plants. She slowed, scented the wind, pinpointing their exact location without ever seeing them.
Yes. They were there, a yearling and two older does. Two were late in their cycle, the third was primed for mating. All this came to Maizie on the air, but there was something else, something familiar but out of place.
Cranberry apple walnut tart. She’d brought three for Granny yesterday. The scent was unique, but diluted by distance. Granny must have the screen in her window and the tarts nearby. Maizie wanted to see Gran and so she turned from the deer to go to her. That simple. That uncomplicated. Her wolf instinct made decisions easy but something in the back of her mind niggled that easy wasn’t the same as best.
It was too difficult to think about now. Maizie was lost in the fast rush of sensation, floating through the forest, her leg muscles pumping like the pistons of a finely tuned engine. One with the forest, she weaved and jumped, turned to the left, veered to the right, moving seamlessly through the dark woods. It was like nothing she’d ever known and she never wanted it to end. But when she broke through the line of the forest into the backyard of Green Acres Nursing Home, everything changed.
Head low, she loped along the shadows, weaving her way to the edge of the building. The glass doors along the back wall of the home were all closed, but the corner lights inside cast a soft honey glow and lit the recreation room enough Maizie could see the group of people gathered around a TV. She crept out from the corner, the light inside and the dark of night making her virtually invisible.
Maizie looked for a familiar face, worried her wolf brain wouldn’t know her grandmother when she saw her. She glanced at the elderly men sleeping in twin recliners and paused only a minute to study the features of the woman between them knitting. There was a woman in the far rocking chair reading beneath one of the corner lamps and another sitting on a love seat hand in hand with a tender-looking elderly man. These two were the only ones of the group who seemed to be watching the exuberant TV evangelist. But Maizie didn’t recognize them. She didn’t recognize any of them.
Granny, where are you? Maizie’s brain was fuzzy, filled with intoxicating scents and sounds, with the instincts of her wolf-half. There was just too much, too many distractions. But she knew what Granny looked like, didn’t she? Yes. She remembered her, the way she made Maizie feel, what she meant to her. None of these people were Granny.
Maizie turned and jogged along the building, avoiding the cast of light spilling from the windows. She followed the edge around corners, into the alcoves and out again. She finally made it to the back of the building where four windows were spaced evenly along the façade. The first overlooked the backyard, but the forest edged close to the last three. Granny’s suite.
The light from Granny’s room cast a wash of light into the forest, illuminating a matching rectangle of foliage. Maizie circled out to the edge of the light, careful not to be seen.
Granny’s lace curtains were drawn, but the heavy toile drapes were pulled back to the sides, exposing the room to anyone who cared to see.
Granny. Maizie knew her instantly. The old woman sat in her hospital-style bed, the top section angled up so she could watch TV. A remote control in one hand, she held a fork in the other, poised over a cranberry apple walnut tart waiting on a rolling tray table over the bed. Her feet wiggled a happy rhythm under the blanket, her mouth curled in a half smile, still working on her last bite.
She was happy and Maizie’s muscles relaxed, releasing a tension she hadn’t noticed before. Granny was safe and cared for in case this transformation didn’t reverse itself. Maizie shuddered at the thought.
She wasn’t stuck like this, was she? The old stories always had some poor hapless sap who’d gotten himself bitten returning to his human form. Reclaiming his life was a struggle, but he always tried, always wallowed in denial.
Of course most often he didn’t succeed and wound up transforming at the worst possible moment. The villagers would storm and the hapless sap would mindlessly attack some innocent child, giving good reason for his brutal death.
Maizie shuddered again and made a mental note to stop watching so many horror flicks. She’d be fine. This couldn’t possibly be a permanent state and villagers hardly ever stormed these days.
Granny took another dainty bite of tart, her smile broadening as the pastry passed her lips. She leaned her head back, dancing her fork in the air like a conductor. Maizie never realized how long and lovely Granny’s hair was. Like a blanket of fine white snow, it lay in a shimmering sheet down her back to her bum. White curls pooled around her hips, tiny wisps tickling her cheeks.