Page 24 of Wishing for a Werewolf
I open my mouth to protest, but Autumn sets a hand on my forearm and gives a little shake of her head.
When we step back out onto Main Street, I say, “It feels wrong to take credit for your hard work.”
“It’s okay. I know it’s not you. It’s the wish swap spell.” The fiery witch grins up at me. “Thank you. I made that batch of soap a month ago, never knowing if I’d be able to sell it, so… thank you.”
“It’s good soap, far superior to anything I’ve yet tried. You deserve to be able to sell it.”
“Yeah, well, a good product doesn’t mean much when people don’t know it exists, and I’ve got no real way to make that happen.” She scrunches her freckled nose.
I frown and tap the edge of her phone. “Can’t you make one of those things people are always looking at?”
“A website? I could, but…” She shakes her head, her lips pinching in a way I don’t like.
I set a hand on her shoulder and pull her to a halt, getting her to turn and face me. “Explain.”
“I run the goat farm with my parents, and we make goat-milk soap, but it’s plain soap for a bargain price. They’re scared to try selling specialty soaps online or to open a shop here in town, so…” She shrugs, but it’s clear the topic bothers her.
“Your loyalty to your family does you great credit.” I squeeze her shoulder. “I will help you with this in any way I can.”
Her green eyes fly up to mine. “You don’t have—”
“Yes, I do. You’re going to help me with my niece and nephew, and trust me, you have no idea what you’re in for. They’re exceedingly mischievous.”
“Ha!” She huffs in amusement. “YouhavemetBabybelle, right?”
A loud whinny cuts across my answer, and I whirl around right as a kelpie thunders down the street, scattering people from their path. Yellow-green scales cover the large equine fae, their mane and tail darker green kelp fronds. They rear up, hooves lashing at the air, and scream in a deep alto, “Out of my way, pitiful humans!”
“What the effing hell is that?” Autumn yells. “It’s even bigger than a horse, and does it have shark teeth?”
“It does.”
Twin rows of sharp pointed teeth clack as the waterhorse rears again, then races toward the town green.
“It’s a kelpie. They’re… one of the less pleasant types of fae shifters.” That’s putting it mildly.
Mrs. Greely shuffles across the green, cane in one hand while the other holds the leash of a domesticated dog. She seems oblivious of the kelpie, even as her dog starts barking wildly. “Max, be good. It’s just a horse.”
“Do something, Autumn!” a wood nymph yells, pointing at the kelpie and then Mrs. Greely.
More and more people start yelling for Autumn.
She grips my arm and points at the kelpie. “It’s the wish swap! It doesn’t matter that they’re calling my name. Everyone needsyouto do something.”
I leap forward, bounding toward the kelpie. Even though I’m far stronger than any human in my fae form, the waterhorse outmasses me a few times over. Between one stride and the next, I free my magic. The change ripples over me as I shift into a werewolf, my tail tucked awkwardly down the leg of my pants. I ignore the discomfort and run harder.
Yet as fast as I am, I will be too late.
Every protective instinct in me flares, enraged at the thought of a fae hurting an elderly human or one of their soft, tame dogs. I put on another burst of speed.
The kelpie’s only a few yards from Mrs. Greely when a herd of tulips races from behind a bush and into the fae’s path.
“What in the Dark God’s name areyou?” the kelpie jolts to a sudden halt. “What type of fae are you to defy me so? Speak!”
The tulips wave their long leaves like gesticulating arms, their flower heads tipped backward, as if staring up at the massive equine in defiance.
The distraction provides the extra seconds I need. I whip off my shirt and twirl it between my hands to make an improvised rope. Although I’ve never ridden before, I’ve traveled with enough orcs and unicorns to have seen the basics. In a vaulting leap, I straddle the waterhorse’s back, the rope pulled tight around its neck. My claws provide extra grip as I twist the shirt tight and hold it in place by clasping a double handful of slippery kelp-frond mane.
The kelpie rears, and my thighs clamp to keep me from sliding from the scaled back. The waterhorse wheels in circles, trying to head deeper into town. “Release me, dog! You have no right to control me.”
