CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Three days later
Jane rolled over and stretched. Then shrieked in anger as she fell three feet and hit the cement with a smack. Ack! Cold! She'd curled up on the base of the statue in Park Square, promptly gone to sleep, then forgotten about the drop when she woke up.
Why don't I ever remember these details until it's too late?
She rubbed her skinned elbow and looked around. Nice and quiet this time of day; a random woman falling off a park bench was hardly worthy of notice, much less comment. She was pleasantly tired, and would be for the next couple of days. It was always like that when she chased the moon. She also felt very new, almost husked out. Purified. Whatever.
She stood, shivering. Step one: find clothes. Spring in Boston was like spring in Siberia.
She marched up to an early-morning commuter, a businessman cutting through the park to get to the subway. He stared at her goosebumps appreciatively as she approached, but she had eyes only for his cashmere topcoat. She made up a sob story on the fly and hoped he bought it, because if not, he was going to get mugged by a naked crazy woman in a public park in five seconds.
He bought it. Or felt it was a fair trade. Either way, she wasn’t naked anymore. Step one, more or less complete. Time for step two.
She had made her choice as a wolf, and would carry it out as a woman. She didn't have to wake up in the park, naked and alone. Or yesterday, in an alley. Or the night before that, beneath the docks by the harbor—ugh. She wasn’t sure she'd ever get the smell out of her hair.
There were over a hundred safe-houses in Boston, as well as acres and acres of woods owned by Pack members, and she was as aware of these as a wolf as when she was on two feet. She could have romped in any one of them and woken to safety and clean clothes and a hearty breakfast. But as a wolf she had avoided all those places and her kind, shunned high protein meals and rummaged in garbage cans like a wereraccoon. Her beast knew what she wanted. Now it was time to get it.
Of course, she didn't know where Dick lived, exactly. It's not like she scribbled down the address with her paw on her way out the window. Luckily, there were ways and ways. The day she couldn't sniff up her own back trail to a den was the day she'd jump off a bridge. Actually, she did jump off a bridge, which is how she ended up under the docks.
It didn't take long, but her feet were numb by the time she got there. Dick lived in a dignified brownstone that was probably built the year the Mayflower landed. She shifted her weight back and forth, stuck her hands in her stolen pockets, and looked up at his window. The glass hadn't been replaced; there was a large piece of cardboard taped into the frame instead. Guess it took time to order that fancy old-fashioned stuff. At least she hadn’t cut herself on the way out. Small blessings, and all that.
Except for the rumble of an early morning delivery truck, the street was quiet.
"S’cuse me. D'you live here?"
She looked. The delivery boy she’d passed was holding three brimming grocery bags, and looked glum. "Sure. Why?"
"Well, thank God. 'Cause I've been making deliveries for two weeks, but the last couple days nobody takes the food in, and it goes bad or gets swiped, and it's just a waste is all."
Ah, so that's where all the sumptuous feasts came from. Yum. "I was gone for a while," she told him, "but now I'm back."
"Who are you?"
"I’m with Dick. Only his name’s not Dick. But he’s with me. Dick is, I mean. And I’m with him." She shook her head. It sounded just as weird and dumb out loud as it did in her head. "Do I have to sign something?"
"Naw. He's got an account with us."
"Then get lost."
"Nice!" But he set the bags down, slouched back to his truck, and, in typical Boston fashion, pulled into traffic without looking. Which was good, because it wouldn't do for him to see her break into the house.
Three minutes later
"Well, shit." That had been considerably easier said than done. Dick's front door wouldn't budge, and she was reluctant to break more of that expensive glass. He might not be so thrilled she came back. She had a vague memory of him grabbing her and begging her not to go, but it was like a dream. She didn't trust her wolf-brain to flawlessly interpret human emotions.
She smacked herself on the forehead. Dummy! Why was she trying to see him in the daytime? Even if she got in, he wouldn’t exactly be a thrilling conversationalist. He'd be holed up in his bedroom, literally dead to the world. Until then, she might as well chat with a rock. Still, it would have been nice to swipe some clothes.
Oh, well. The coat was warm enough, and she didn't give a fuck how many people stared at her feet. She just had to kill ten hours until the sun set. Maybe she’d get lucky and someone would attempt to mug her. That’d be a fun way to get some cash.
Guess that makes me the glass-is-half-full type.
Chuckling, she went on her way.